


the thing about trust

by maddielle



Series: the thing about trust 'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Angst, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Consent, Family Issues, First Kiss, First Meetings, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Character Death, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sensory Deprivation, Sub Derek Hale, Therapy, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddielle/pseuds/maddielle
Summary: At thirty-three, Derek is arguably content to be coasting through life. Sure, he's a little estranged from most of his family, and he doesn't get laid very often, but it's not a bad existence, all things considered.A slight deviation from his usual routine inadvertently lands him in the midst of Sacramento's young kink community, and he's abruptly faced with the possibility of having more.
Relationships: Cora Hale & Derek Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: the thing about trust 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815772
Comments: 35
Kudos: 410





	1. August

**Author's Note:**

> We're back!
> 
> I've been slowly writing this as an exploration of kink and self - it's meant to be a gentle story on figuring out life after old trauma, with minimal angst and a lot of healthy communication and expression.
> 
> I'm by no means an expert on BDSM - education is key, so always make sure to go into anything armed with knowledge while keeping safety in mind. That being said, I have experienced some of the things and events written about regarding the kink community, so I've drawn on that for some inspiration.
> 
> Housekeeping:  
> \- All specific places, people, Instagram accounts, and events are purely fictional  
> \- Rating and tags subject to change with chapter uploads
> 
> Title is from Trust, by Neon Trees
> 
> Stay safe and enjoy :)

When Derek finally found the shop, he was glad he’d memorized the address. Otherwise, he might have walked right past it without noticing.

The older house was situated away from the sidewalk, a short stone path leading between overgrown bushes to a small porch painted a cheery yellow. Bookended by a Starbucks and an independent audio store, it seemed dated, homey. Derek would have pegged it for an old residence ready for demolition and development were it not for the new sign hanging above the veranda steps.

_Ally’s Armory._

With a steadying breath, he veered off the sidewalk and up to the storefront. The wide bay window next to the front door didn’t give away much, curtains blocking his view inside, and the door creaked when he tentatively pushed his way through. A quiet chime announced his entrance.

The modern interior of the shop was a pleasant turnaround from its humble exterior. The entire ground floor had been opened up into a single wide space, clean white walls boasting racks upon shelves of carefully displayed products. Recessed bulbs in the ceiling washed everything in a warm light, reflecting off of polished wood floorboards. At the main counter, an iPad had been set up on a stand, a minimalist scanner attached to it.

“Hi!”

Derek was drawn out of his appreciation for the shop’s design by a friendly voice. From towards the back wall, a tall, golden-haired guy approached. Derek noticed an open door behind him which likely lead to a stockroom or back office.

“Hi,” Derek replied, feet shifting.

“I’m Isaac,” Isaac said, giving a welcoming smile. “Can I help you find anything, or just browsing?”

“Kind of? I’m here for the, uh, the…”

His train of thought was disrupted momentarily; he’d caught site of a bright pink dildo hanging behind Isaac’s head.

“…the workshop?” Isaac prompted.

“Yeah.” Derek blinked. “Yeah, sorry. I signed up online? I think I’m a bit early.”

Isaac smiled again, teeth flashing, and inclined his head towards the counter. “Sure thing. I can sign you in here, and you’re welcome to look around in the meantime. Allison will be getting things started in about fifteen minutes.”

“Great.” Feeling a bit like a lost puppy, Derek tracked Isaac as he rounded the counter and tapped on the iPad.

“Can I get your name?”

“Derek.”

“Derek, Derek…” Isaac bit his lip, an adorable gesture, as he scrolled down a list. “Derek… Hale?”

“Yep.”

“Awesome. You’re all good to go. I’ll give everyone a shout closer to seven, so don’t stray too far.” The door chimed again as a couple entered, and Isaac’s attention was instantly on them. “Hey guys! Here for the workshop?”

Apparently good to wait for a while, Derek adjusted his satchel on his shoulder and wandered from the counter. Directly across from it, covering almost the entire side wall, were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, works shelved and organized by topic. A series of placards boasted different fields of interest, some Derek found familiar and some that were completely foreign.

He slid his phone from his back pocket and sent off a text.

_Derek [6:48] – What’s CBT?_

He was extremely familiar with the concept of cognitive behavioural therapy, but he somehow doubted that a book with the title _A Kinkster’s Guide to Safe CBT Practices_ was about techniques for managing depression and anxiety. And there was no way he was asking his therapist.

_Cora [6:49] – cock and ball torture_

_Cora [6:49] – did you actually sign up??? are you there rn???_

_Derek [6:50] – Yeah. I’m currently looking at a wall of strap-on harnesses._

_Cora [6:50] – surprised you know what those are_

_Derek [6:51] – I may not get out much but I’m not that oblivious._

When he glanced behind himself, about six or seven people had gathered and were chatting or browsing the store. Shying away from their murmurs of conversation, he continued on and came to another curtained window. In front of it, a railing had been mounted, series of coiled ropes dangling in a pleasing display. Some were a neutral brown, similar to hemp, while others were brightly dyed in vibrant reds and blues and other colours, all in varying thicknesses. Curious, Derek reached out to feel the grain of a shiny black rope that had caught his eye between his thumb and forefinger.

“Soft, right?”

Startled, Derek dropped his hand and looked over his shoulder. Another young man stood to one side. His warm brown eyes conveyed the same welcoming attitude that Isaac had, and he wore the same t-shirt as his co-worker, a simple black top with _Ally’s Armory_ printed over the left breast.

“It’s pretty popular,” the guy continued. “I prefer a good cotton, personally, but nylon definitely has a nice feel to it.”

“Oh. Yeah, it's soft,” Derek said, casting his eyes back to the hanging coils. “I don’t know much about the different types,” he admitted.

“It’s not so complicated,” the guy said, mouth pulling into a half-smile as he shrugged, bringing Derek’s attention to a set of nice, wide shoulders. “Here for the workshop?”

Derek nodded.

“Well, you’re in good hands. Allison is totally the best instructor we have.”

“Don’t let Lydia here you say that, Stiles,” Isaac cut in as he walked past.

“Lydia agrees with me!” the guy, Stiles apparently, threw over his shoulder. When he turned his attention back to Derek, he was chuckling.

“Stiles?” Derek asked.

“My name,” Stiles confirmed. “It’s a nickname.”

“Right.”

Their conversation was ended when Isaac clapped his hands. As he welcomed the participants and indicated for everyone to follow him into the studio, Derek cast his eyes around and counted eleven people, including himself. There were a few couples and some other singles as well, which quelled a little of the nervousness in his stomach about being the only unpaired attendee.

“Alright,” Stiles said, turning away. “I gotta close up. Have fun!”

Nodding, Derek fell into step with the small crowd and found himself herded down a narrow staircase into the shop’s basement.

The studio, as Isaac had called it, had been designed and lit in the same way as the shop. A whiteboard hung on the far wall in front of a couple of rows of comfortable seats, ranging from beanbags to armchairs to large cushions. While there was plenty of space, Derek eyed a simple office chair near the back and made himself at home there.

Allison was a gorgeous young woman, fit and athletic with shiny dark hair gathered up at the back of her head. As her students settled in, she produced a stack of stapled booklets and started to hand them out, stopping every now and then to chat and exchange names with someone. While she was clearly confident and personable, Derek noticed that she seemed to tailor her interactions with people based on their demeanours. She laughed with a bubbly couple sitting near the front, exchanged a few calm words with a quiet duo of girls, and just smiled with dimples and nodded when she handed Derek his workbook.

Derek noticed himself further relax, comfortable in the open and respectful atmosphere. He hadn’t really known what to expect, but he was pleasantly surprised so far.

When satisfied that she’d greeted everyone, Allison walked back to the front of the class, heeled boots clicking gently against the wood floor, and faced the group.

“Hello, everyone!” she said, brightly. “I’m so so happy to see you all here. I see a few returners, a couple of new faces; it’s lovely to meet you all. Nothing better than a bit of kink education on a Saturday night, right?”

There were a few quiet laughs and murmurs of assent.

“Totally.” Allison grinned, and gestured to Isaac who stood just to her side with his hands respectfully linked behind his back. “I’m Allison, and I’ll be leading this beginner bondage workshop with Isaac here as my model. We’re going to start with an overview of definitions and safe practices for about the first forty-five minutes, and then we’re going to jump into physical safety in bondage and the main types of rope, before learning a few simple ties to take home with you. Sound good?” At the enthusiastic nods of her class, she nodded and turned to grab a whiteboard marker. “Okay, let’s get started. We’re gonna begin with what BDSM stands for, so just shout it out if you know.”

The first hour of the two hour workshop passed in a blur of new information to Derek. He’d had a surface knowledge of kink before, but he very quickly realized that there was a depth to the entire concept beyond spanking and whatever else he typically came across in porn. Allison talked at length about the dynamics of power exchange and open communication, occasionally using herself and Isaac as examples. The taller man had apparently been her submissive for two years already, though they reviewed their contract every few months as their relationship evolved, Allison added.

Before long, Derek had filled five pages of the notebook he’d brought with everything from skills for building scenes to the different flavours of dominance and submission to notes on totemic items that could be used to get players into the right headspace. After explaining those, Allison had done a small show-and-tell, presenting the towering heels she often wore when in a scene with her sub and passing around a couple types of collars.

“You don’t need fancy equipment, though,” Allison was saying, just as the man in front of Derek passed him a simple leather collar to look over. “Setting the right environment for you and your partner can be as simple as lighting your favourite candle, or putting on a certain playlist.”

Derek felt his cheeks flush ever so slightly as he held the collar in two hands, glancing over the silver buckle in the back and the small ring hanging from the front. Inwardly flustered, he quickly passed it to the student beside him, noticing when he looked up that Stiles had joined the class and stood at the bottom of the basement steps, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His attention was on Allison as she gave Isaac a basket to hold.

“Time for some fun stuff,” she said slyly, holding up a few bundles of rope in her hands. “Let’s learn about rope.”

It was another twenty minutes or so of learning about types of rope and safety practices before everyone was handed a neat coil. Derek ended up with a navy blue variation, clearly used before but still strong when he gently pulled on it. By the whiteboard, Allison had Isaac hold out a wrist, and she demonstrated what she called a single-column tie.

“You can try it out on a partner or on your own ankle,” she suggested when finished. “I’ll circle around and see how everyone is doing.”

Derek had always been quick on the uptake with new hands-on skills, so he drew his foot onto his other knee and looped his rope around his ankle. Soon enough, he had a simple cuff tied around it. To test the knot, he lifted the long end of the rope and was surprised to find that the tie could support his weight while not tightening on his skin.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself.

“Looks pretty good.” Allison had caught a glimpse of his work while helping out another couple a few rows ahead. “Any problems?”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s pretty simple.”

“Simple,” she agreed, “but useful. You can do a lot with that one tie; attach the other end to the headboard, keep someone’s legs spread apart, the possibilities are endless.”

Quietly delighted with his new skill, Derek busied himself for the next few minutes with tying and re-tying his single column, seeing how quickly and neatly he could tie it. Soon enough, Allison called for everyone’s attention. Next on the agenda was the double-column tie.

“Similar concept,” she explained, “but involving two ‘columns’. Such as a body part and a chair arm, for example. This is what you’d use to tie a simple pair of handcuffs.” She had Isaac hold out his wrists, and, when she was done, he had his arms loosely bound in front of him, the long end of the rope still in Allison’s hand. She tugged playfully, and they privately shared an amused look.

Derek had paid careful attention during a slower demonstration, but, when they were left to try it themselves, he realized he was the odd one out. The couples who had arrived together had turned to each other, and any other singles were pairing up with whomever sat next to them.

“Everyone have a partner?” Allison called, scanning the room. When Derek raised a tentative hand to catch her attention, she gestured towards Stiles where he hung out at the side of the room. “Stiles, can you help us out?”

“No problemo,” Stiles replied easily, pushing off the wall and dragging a spare chair to sit beside Derek. “You cool with that?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. His hands felt a little sweaty. “All good.”

Stiles flashed a beautiful grin and pushed a hand through his hair absently. “Cool beans. You wanna go first?”

“Uh. Okay.” With Stiles’ wrists presented to him, Derek took a breath and ran his length of rope through his hands. “I don’t think I’m gonna get it the first time.”

Stiles scooted a little closer with a shrug. “No one’s a pro at first. I remember Allison’s first attempts back in college. Now she can string Isaac upside down from the ceiling no problem.”

“The ceiling?” Derek asked, looping the rope around Stiles’ slender wrists twice and drawing the bindings together in the centre.

“Oh, yeah. You’ll have to check out her Instagram. It’s nuts what she can do.”

With a final knot, Derek finished his double-column tie, and Stiles tugged his wrists apart to test the makeshift cuffs.

“Feels good,” he said, sounding only a little surprised. “You done this before?”

Derek huffed a laugh at the praise and reached to undo the tie. “Honestly, no. I, uh, have a friend with benefits situation. She wants to switch things up, so I thought I’d learn some new stuff.” He wasn’t sure if it was really that appropriate to share , but everyone else in the studio had been equally, if not more, open about sex and relationships so far.

“That’s rad,” Stiles commented, unbothered. “Nothing wrong with adding a bit of excitement in the bedroom.” When his wrists were free, he offered a palm. “You wanna try?”

Derek’s brain stalled. “What. Being tied?”

“Sure. If you want.”

Thought processes still rebooting, Derek glanced down at Stiles’ open hand.

Between signing up for the workshop a week before and a few seconds ago, Derek honestly hadn’t considered experiencing _being_ tied. Kate always liked him to take charge, wanted him to be more creative, and, throughout the class, he’d been dutifully fixated on making sure he could learn how to do the knots himself so he could replicate them with her and impress her whenever she was in town again.

Then again, he supposed there was no harm in seeing what it felt like.

“Go for it,” he said, bringing his wrists together, the delicate skin on the insides facing upwards. With nimble fingers, Stiles took the rope, folded it in two, and got to work creating the cuffs. His movements were practiced and deft, this clearly not his first time tying someone’s hands together, and even that small bit of evidence of Stiles’ theorized experience caused Derek to twitch a little in the confines of his jeans.

This close, he could count the moles dotting Stiles’ cheeks and make out the suggestion of light chest hair peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt.

“Seems like you’ve done this before,” he joked lightly to dispel his own tension, just as the final knot was tightened.

In answer, Stiles mouth curved up as he kept his eyes on his handiwork. “Maybe once or twice. You pick things up around here. How does that feel?”

Taking in the sight of his wrists bound neatly in navy blue, Derek’s mouth dried just a little. The aesthetic of it was definitely nice, he couldn’t deny that. The feeling of Stiles’ fingers brushing his skin as the tie was undone was pretty nice too.

As he took back his practice rope, Derek felt an impending awkward silence approach, but Stiles just leaned back in his chair and stretched carelessly.

“So, you’re new to rope,” he stated. “Are you new to kink in general?”

“Stiles.” Allison walked past as she moved to help the group next to Derek, rapping Stiles on the head lightly as she passed by. “Don’t be nosy.”

“I’m making conversation!” Stiles exclaimed.

“It’s okay,” Derek chuckled, glancing at Allison. “I don’t mind.” To Stiles, he said, “Yeah, pretty much. Weirdly enough, my sister knows a bit about it. She’s the one who told me about this place.” He shook his head fondly, thinking distantly of Cora. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh man.” Stiles chewed on his lip, considering. “I’ve been in the community for years now. Mostly in the younger crowd, with Allison and Lydia. They own the shop together,” he added, gesturing above them vaguely.

As he listened, Derek fiddled with this rope in his lap, sifting in his mind through Kate’s detailed list of requests she’d texted him. She’d had so many ideas, he often wondered if she’d rather be the one tying him despite her assurances otherwise. However, she liked to be the centre of attention. Derek knew that.

“Does it work behind your back?” he asked abruptly, glancing up at Stiles.

“Hm?”

“The double-column,” Derek clarified. “Can you make handcuffs behind your back?”

“Totally,” Stiles said enthusiastically, sitting up and gesturing to himself. “Want to try it on me?”

Pausing, Derek let his gaze trail from Stiles’ curled fingers, down a lightly-muscled forearm, and then across a pair of slim thighs in dark pants. He let the gentle murmurs of the people around them wash over him and blinked, twice.

“Can you tie me?” he asked, offering the rope, trying to keep some semblance of confidence. “I want to feel what it’s like, first.”

Stiles’ energized expression morphed into something a little softer. “For sure. Turn around?”

Swallowing, Derek shifted until his back was to Stiles and brought his hands together. Slight inflexibility in his shoulders had his chest puffing out a bit, but he noticed a few other people nearby in the same position and willfully ignored any threatening self-consciousness. Behind himself, he heard Stiles scoot closer and felt the dry warmth of his fingers as he positioned Derek where he wanted. Derek waited quietly as his hands were bound, breathing out when Stiles tapped his elbow.

“All done,” the other man said finally. “How does it feel?”

Dipping his chin a little, Derek rolled his shoulders and tapped his thumbs against each finger, testing the sensation in the digits.

“Fine. Comfy.”

“I’m glad.” Almost inaudibly, Stiles snorted a little, thumbing across Derek’s elbows absently. “I’d like to hope I know what I’m doing after all this time,” he said lightly.

“I’m sure you do,” Derek returned, as he tightened his shoulders experimentally against the binding.

“You wanna try me, now?”

“Alright.”

“Let’s do it.”

At nine, Allison wrapped up the workshop and sent everyone upstairs with the promise of a fifteen percent discount on anything purchased before being kicked out at nine-thirty. Notes packed away, Derek walked straight across to the collection of rope and picked out two coils of a black, cotton variety similar to what he’d been using to practice with Stiles. Then, for the hell of it, he grabbed a bottle of his favourite lube and went to pay for his wares.

Stiles was offering some advice to a young woman at the wall of vibrators when Derek glanced around, purchase made, so he started to head for the front door, only for Stiles to reach over quickly to catch his arm.

“Hey! I though you might want to check out Allison’s page? Lot’s of rope inspiration there if you’re curious.”

“I’ll take a look,” Derek replied, hands tight on the strap of his bag. “What’s the account?”

“Hold on.”

In a flash, Stiles rounded the counter and jotted down some information on the back of one of the store’s business cards. He handed it across to Derek. Allison’s handle had been scrawled in loopy pen.

“That’s us,” Stiles added, tapping next to the shop’s own account name. “I don’t personally have an account, but I post a lot of funny stuff there. If that’s your thing. I’ve been told it can be kind of annoying.”

Someone bumped Derek from behind on their way out, and he was suddenly just about at his limit for daily social interaction. Drumming up a grateful smile, he tucked the card into his pocket and stepped to the side.

“Thanks,” he said. “For this. And for helping out earlier.”

“Not a problem,” Stiles returned casually, leaning on his elbows. With what might have been a wink, he added, “You were a good partner.”

Derek ducked his head, gave a half-wave, and made his exit.

He followed both accounts as soon as he got back to his apartment.

Having grown up in a small town in northern California no one had ever heard of, Derek had done his duty as the good son and gone to New York to get his degree in environmental engineering before getting a starter position with a prominent consulting firm through his uncle. His life had undeniably been on a steep upward trajectory towards some definition of success, something his parents had never failed to tell him they were proud of.

That had lasted for about seven years until, at age twenty-eight, he’d dropped everything in New York and transplanted his existence to the loft he now rented in Sacramento, where he lived according to a loose schedule of working from home as a data analyst, hanging out with his younger sister, and regular appointments with a psychologist in Rosemont. Every now and then, Kate dropped in. He never went home.

That was kind of it.

He’d be thirty-four in December.

The Wednesday following his weekend visit to _Ally’s Armory_ , Derek caught the bus east to meet Cora for a late lunch after her afternoon practice at the Sac State soccer field. He found her on campus and they walked together over to the café with hanging plants in the windows they often frequented. Cora always made Derek pay, happy to claim the title of poor student whenever she could.

“You’re the best big brother,” she said, when he placed a chicken panini and a green tea latte in front of her. For himself, he’d gone with coffee and a scone. He didn’t often have a huge appetite.

“You say that every time,” he told her.

“It’s true every time.”

“It’ll continue to be true until I stop paying for your food.”

He couldn’t help answering her impish smile with his own; it was their own little routine.

“So,” Cora said, wiping foam from her lip with a napkin and crossing her legs, clean sneakers flashing in the sun, “update me on your life.”

Derek lifted a shoulder. “Nothing new.”

She fixed him with such a pointed look, complete with a sharply raised eyebrow, that he was abruptly reminded of their mother. The women in his family really did have a way of seeing through anything.

Twirling her long ponytail around one finger, Cora smirked. “My brother,” she began, “texts me out of the blue right before attending a rope bondage workshop, the very same brother who jogs the exact same route every other day and has ordered the exact same thing at this very café since we started coming here two years ago.” She leaned forward and tapped a nail on her large mug. “When you mentioned it to me, I thought you were joking.”

Derek resisted the urge to squirm, though he knew Cora would never intentionally be mean. She just suffered from insatiable curiosity.

“I can want to pick up new skills,” he muttered.

“I never said you couldn’t. But after all of this stoic routine, I figured it would be something like watercolours or pottery.”

Draining his coffee, Derek sighed and slouched a little in his seat. “You make me sound so boring.”

“You’re not boring,” Cora said with a roll of her eyes. “You just happen to like stability. I get it. Tell Emma I said hi next time you see her, by the way,” she added, referencing his therapist.

Derek fixed his sister with an exasperated look. “I will.”

Humming, Cora took her latte in two hands and sipped delicately. A quiet moment passed between them, accompanied only by the light clicking of nearby laptop keyboards and the bustle of the café.

“Never answered my question,” she said lightly, after a long while.

“Kate suggested it.”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “You still see her?”

“Sometimes,” Derek said, nonchalant. “It’s easy. Casual.”

“Yeah, but you _only_ see her. We know she doesn’t only see you.” Cora loved to stalk people on social media. “You should date other people, too.”

“Too much effort.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“I know you don’t _need_ anyone, doofus,” Cora returned, eyes soft. “You’ve put in the time pulling yourself together, working on things. You’re, like, the least needy person I know. You’d land someone awesome and caring in a heartbeat, I know it for a fact.”

When he said nothing, she leaned back with a small sigh and knocked his foot with hers under the table. “I don’t want to push. I just want you to have some happiness.”

“I’m alright,” he said quietly.

“I know you are,” Cora said, reaching to squeeze his hands in hers once, quickly. “I know you are. Now, give me the rest of that scone. Delicious baked goods are wasted on you.”

Biting back a laugh, Derek pushed his plate towards her without argument.

Back at his loft, after a quick dinner of quinoa salad, Derek watered the plants and succulents he had dotted around the apartment and flopped back on his futon couch, phone in hand. A few emails from current clients were shifted into a folder to be dealt with tomorrow. He’d also missed a text from Laura, and he had a new comment on his latest post on Instagram.

He snorted when he saw who it was: Cora, of course. _Weak caption game,_ she’d written. It had only been a picture of his bike in the morning sun, a tiny update to appease all twelve of his followers. The caption had just been the bicycle emoji.

Unhurried, Derek absently scrolled through his feed, swiping past updates from distant relatives and various fitness accounts and Cora’s soccer team, when one post caught his eye, uploaded by _@allysarmory_. The picture was of Stiles and Isaac, each wielding a frankly terrifyingly thick dildo and pretending to duel while Allison and another woman with strawberry hair watched, mid-laugh. The caption read,

_don’t miss our labor day weekend specials, starting early for maximum vacation fun! discounts available on most products and all workshops until september 10. stay kinky, sacramento!_

Derek liked the picture, and, on a whim, opened up a new comment.

_@dk_hale – next bondage workshop?_

He then stood and set his phone down before heading across to his dresser and stripping quickly. He pulled out a clean set of running clothes and, after downing a glass of water, headed out for an evening run.

Cora had been right; Derek had never once strayed from the same route he’d been taking since he’d moved back to California. The path took him down the sidewalk, past blocks of quiet shops and a grocery store, before turning into a more leafy, residential area. He liked jogging past the houses, catching glimpses of families living their everyday lives through open garages and living room windows. About thirty minutes in, he arrived at a small park, followed the gravel path around a couple of flowerbeds and a pond, before turning for home again.

As expected, he felt refreshed and clearheaded when he let himself in the front door again. A blessing, since he might have panicked otherwise upon checking his phone had he not just tired himself out. He had a new message in his inbox.

_@allysarmory: Hey Derek! Glad you followed us! Next rope workshop won’t be for a little while, but we can always suggest other places to build your skills if you don’t want to wait ;) – Stiles_

Ignoring the tiny jolt of something in his chest at seeing Stiles’ name, Derek tapped out his reply.

_@dk_hale: That would be cool, let me know._

Stiles was quick with his answer.

_@allysarmory: No prob! There are two salons in town that have classes in specific techniques_

_@allysarmory: We also have some books and guides at the store if you wanna know more on rope and kink in general_

_@dk_hale: Prob a good place to start. I'll stop by this weekend._

_@allysarmory: See u then :)_

He spent the rest of the week working full hours on an agricultural research project in Wyoming he’d been supporting remotely and neglecting to text back his older sister. At around four on Friday, Derek hit send on his latest report and leaned back in his office chair with a deep sigh. The soft leather creaked around the weight of his body.

At this time of day, the tall windows near the kitchen caught a lot of the afternoon sun when it wasn’t cloudy. The vases of bamboo on the sill loved the warmth, and he’d been able to get a hanging plant of ivy to grow continuously for the past year or so. Its winding vines graced the length of the loft’s high ceilings to curl delicately around the shoulder of a wicker armchair, creating funky shadows on the opposite wall. The familiar calm accompanying a satisfying work week settled into Derek’s chest as he contemplated whether he could successfully get a second hanging basket installed.

His phone rang quietly beside his laptop.

“Yep,” he answered.

“Hey, you.”

“Kate. Thought you’d still be working around now.”

A corporate lawyer in Manhattan at the height of her career, Kate voluntarily worked long and gruelling hours, leaving little time for relaxation in her fast-paced life. He knew she loved it that way.

“I’m taking a short break,” she said breezily. “I have an overnight flight to Chicago, and a conference in Dallas starting Monday morning.”

“Sounds busy,” Derek commented, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

“Always am.” She paused, and Derek picked up the sound of a car door slamming in the background. “I have to go. I wanted to let you know I’ll be in California in a few weeks for the weekend, and I haven’t booked a hotel.”

“Okay. Well, I’m free.”

“You always are, darling. I’ll send you my flight details. Bye for now!”

Derek didn’t bother trying to squeeze in a quick farewell. She’d already hung up.

Well, there was something to look forward to. He hadn’t had any action since her last visit a month ago, and, while his libido hadn’t ever been extremely active, all of his recent musings about kink and bondage had definitely renewed his interest a bit. He thought about telling Kate about the workshop, but then figured she’d appreciate the surprise. She liked that kind of thing. She liked it when the people in her life paid attention to her wishes.

Three weeks. Hopefully, that would be enough time to come up with a couple of bedroom novelties to keep her happy.

With the rest of the afternoon free and nothing more to occupy his time except for a new recipe for falafel he’d had bookmarked for a month, Derek checked the opening hours for _Ally’s Armory_ and went to exchange his flipflops for a pair of sneakers.

It was a twenty-minute bike ride back to the sex shop, now that he knew exactly where he was going. Gliding to a stop at the sidewalk out front, he locked his bike to a nearby signpost and headed inside. Just like the week before, the shop was cool and clean with light music filling the background. Isaac stood by the wall of dildos, talking with a couple and pointing to different models, when he caught sight of Derek. His eyes widened in recognition.

“Hey! Good to see you.”

Derek nodded, standing tentatively by the counter. “Is Stiles’ working? He mentioned some books.”

“Stiles is absolutely working,” Stiles announced himself, emerging from behind a clothing stand of leather and latex outfits where he’d been crouching and restocking a cabinet. He looked exactly the same as he had at the workshop; dark t-shirt, slim pants, and a genuine smile topped with softly dishevelled brown hair.

“Hey, man,” he greeted, approaching Derek as Isaac turned back to his conversation with his customers. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Derek said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Had some free time. Figured I’d come check out the stuff you mentioned?”

Stiles snapped his fingers, expression brightening. “Oh, yeah! Bondage, right? Yeah, right over here…” He gestured for Derek to follow him over to the store’s collection of books where he pulled up short and tapped a finger against his mouth, considering the shelves. After a moment, he pulled out two books, one thinner than the other.

“Alright,” Stiles began, holding up the larger volume. “This, I absolutely recommend to everyone, especially people just starting out with kink. It’s kind of like the mini-bible for BDSM; we have versions for both dominant and submissive-leaning folks.” He switched hands. “This is kind of like a rope quick-guide. It’ll have most of the info that Allison went over last week in terms of definitions and safety and all that, as well as a ton of beginner-friendly ties.”

He handed both to Derek with a grin and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta put that box away before someone trips on it. Take a look for a sec, see what you think!” Nodding absently, Derek took the books and started to flip through the shorter guide.

The simple diagrams inside looked like they’d be easy enough to follow. He skimmed past variations of single-column ties and handcuffs he thought wouldn’t be difficult to replicate and sought out some more complicated tutorials. One caught his eye. Each model depicted in the book was of varying shape and gender; this one page had a single drawing of a male figure. The man was on his back, both legs wrapped and tied so that his shins were bound tightly to his thighs, tightly enough that the lines of the rope dug into his skin. Though the illustrator had left his underwear on, the position, with his head flung back and his legs spread, left little to the imagination.

“Oh, yeah. That’s a fun one.”

Derek twitched, startled by Stiles’ sudden return.

“Not too difficult, either,” the younger guy continued, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Derek’s nervous shock. “You can tie it pretty much as tight as you want, depending on your comfort level. Not many nerves to worry about on the trunk of the leg.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s, uh…”

 _Extremely sexy and nerve-wracking and vulnerable_ , Derek’s mind supplied. An image of himself as the illustrated model flashed in his mind. He imagined the feeling of the rope biting into his skin, surrounding him, holding him secure.

“They're good suggestions,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “The books. Thanks.” Avoiding Stiles’ gaze, he glanced up towards the shelves. “Did you have a copy of the other guide?”

“For subs? Yeah, right here.” Stiles reached out a long arm and brought down another book. “Never hurts to get both perspectives.”

The question bubbled over Derek’s lips before he could stop it. “Isn’t it just… one or the other?”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow in askance.

“I thought people where either, like-” Derek broke off. “Christ. I sound stupid.”

“Not at all,” Stiles said firmly. “There’s no such thing as a dumb question. Yeah, a lot of people identify as either dominant or submissive, or as a top or bottom, or daddy, or baby, or anything at all. You can call yourself whatever makes the most sense for you. Sometimes, people like to try both sides; they might call themselves a switch.”

“Switch,” Derek echoed.

“Yep.” Despite Derek’s fears, Stiles’ expression was still nothing but earnest.

“How did you learn all this?”

“Books, the internet, friends,” Stiles offered. “People are pretty open and welcoming of newbies in the community. If they’re not, they aren’t worth your time.” Fixing Derek with a considering look, he licked his lower lip absently. “Ever heard of a munch?”

Derek shook his head.

“It’s a casual meetup for kinky people. Just conversation over food and drinks, that’s all.” Stiles tapped on the books in Derek’s hands. “These are a good start, and you don’t ever have to delve further than that. However, if you wanted to meet other people into BDSM, even just to make friends, a munch is a good next step.”

Derek couldn’t help a short laugh, mainly at himself. “I’m not a super social guy. That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s totally easygoing,” Stiles assured him. “Even easier if you have a friend to go with.”

Surprised, Derek eyes snapped to Stiles’. Stiles smiled, a coy pull of his lips.

“There’s a smaller one we often go to,” he continued, nodding towards Isaac, clearly referring to his coworkers in general. “It isn’t too busy, and it’s mostly a younger crowd.”

“Where?” Derek asked, throat dry.

“I honestly forget the name. The bar across from the public library just north of here? It’s got a nice patio.”

“I know the one.”

“Sweet.” Stiles started to back up towards the counter. “Well, it starts at seven two Mondays from now, if you feel up to it. Did you need anything else today?”

Derek shook his head as he stepped up to the counter and set the books down. “This is good for now.”

As Stiles rang up his total and set Derek’s items in an inconspicuous paper bag, Derek knew he’d already made up his mind. A gathering of strangers at a bar for small talk was like a scene out of his worst nightmare, and he didn’t need that kind of added pressure. Besides, he was maybe seventy-five percent certain that he’d told Cora he’d go to the movies with her that night. He couldn’t just blow that off, not when he’d already written it into his calendar.

When Stiles handed Derek his receipt, he leaned forwards on his hands, the tendons standing out in his forearms, and said, “See you later?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Derek told him.

 _Absolutely no way in hell,_ he thought. Good-looking sex shop employees with slim hips and strong-looking hands be damned.

His resolve on that front lasted about twenty-four hours until Saturday night during an indulgent summer evening of drinking. He usually only allowed himself a beer or two, local brews, but, earlier in the day, he’d sent Kate a nice text wishing her a good weekend only to be left quite obviously on read, and his mood had soured.

Cora rang him when he was well into his second gin and tonic, hold the tonic.

“Hi,” she chirped when he picked up.

“Hey.”

“Just calling to reschedule movie night, if that’s cool. It’s my roommate’s birthday potluck. She just told me.” She paused. “Are you drinking?”

“Nope.”

“How many have you had?”

“Three?”

“Are you alone?” she asked, probably hoping he had a date over.

“Very.”

“Derek…”

“Ugh.” He tipped his glass back and made a face at nothing. “You can’t cancel movie night. If we don’t hang out, then I don’t have an excuse to not hang out with Stiles.”

“What’s a Stiles?”

Shit.

Hoping she might leave the topic alone, Derek kept his lips pressed shut and stared hard at the TV. There was a nature documentary on; some dingoes were mating to the stiff commentary of a British man.

“Derek.”

“Yep?”

“Who is Stiles?”

“It’s a new brand of beer I’m trying.”

“Oh my god. Does he work at the sex shop? Did you make a friend?” Cora whooped, while Derek floundered.

“How did you figure that out?” he complained, only realizing after the fact that he’d just confirmed her suspicions.

“I looked at the latest account you followed on Insta.”

“You’re a menace.”

“So, why do you have to hang out with him?”

Inebriated and suddenly tired beyond belief, Derek gave up and told her everything, from Stiles stepping in as his partner for the workshop, to the following of the Instagram accounts, to the visit to the store the day before. When he spoke of the munch, still only barely understanding what it entailed beyond unavoidable social pain, Cora interrupted abruptly.

“You have to go.”

Derek frowned as he stood, wandering towards the kitchen and the gin. “No, I don’t.”

“You absolutely do. This kid is being friendly to you, and you had a _moment._ Two moments, even.” Cora hummed to herself, likely still stalking the Instagram of _Ally’s Armory_. “He’s cute, Der.”

“I know he his,” Derek moaned, wiping a hand over his face.

“So, what’s the issue?”

“So many things,” he said, gesturing grandly in his empty loft. “First of all, he’s probably straight.”

“It says in this post for pride month that he identifies as bi.”

“I don’t have room in my life to deal with feelings.”

“You literally have all the room. I know Emma talks to you about branching out. You told me yourself.”

Wincing, Derek scratched at his scruff. “What about Kate?”

“What _about_ Kate?” Cora all but growled. “If you do not go to this very innocent and not scary hangout at a bar with cute Stiles and his neat-looking friends because of the not-girlfriend you insist on sticking your lonely penis into once a month for literally nothing in return, I will gouge your eyes out.”

Slumping against his kitchen island, Derek stared at the floor in front of his feet and crossed his free arm tight across his chest. He couldn’t escape himself; it was fear keeping him from relenting. Every day, he unwittingly entertained the feeling that any small change to his life would be the piece of straw that broke the camel’s back, sending him right back into the hellhole of his late twenties.

“Derek.”

“Mm.”

“I love you very much.” He shut his eyes against the well of drunken emotion in his throat. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he said hoarsely.

“Go to the munch,” Cora told him. “I promise nothing terrible will happen.”

With the tiniest sigh, Derek set the cap of the gin back on the bottle and twisted it shut.

“Yeah. Okay.”


	2. September

Two Mondays later, Derek changed from his day clothes of joggers and a random sweater into dark jeans and a clean white t-shirt. The air hovering over Sacramento was steaming, and Cora had once told him that he looked more tan when he wore white. Like a proper Californian, she’d insisted.

Unwilling to risk sweat stains, he left his bike behind and took the bus a few blocks to arrive at around seven-thirty outside the very same bar Stiles had described about two weeks ago. A little research had told him that munches were pretty casual affairs, and no one cared when guests arrived or left as long as the wait staff were adequately tipped and no one acted like an asshole.

Inside, at the hostess’ inquisitive look, he cautiously said, “I’m meeting a group?”

“The reunion?”

“…yes?”

“They’re out on the patio,” she said brightly, pointing behind herself. “Up there and to the right.”

Thanking her, Derek went to make his way upstairs.

The patio itself was pretty nice. Large umbrellas protected the tables of chattering patrons, and cheerful flowers decorated the outer edges of the space in mismatched pots. From a series of wood beams overhead, fairy lights winked against the slowly darkening sky.

The largest group of people was in the furthest corner from the bar, so Derek steeled himself and headed in that direction. There was a horrid moment in which he didn’t recognize anyone at all, and he worried he’d come all this way only to have to turn around and leave in dejected embarrassment when a waving hand caught his attention.

“Hey!” Isaac called, from the end of the long table.

Relieved, Derek raised his arm in return and shuffled between diners towards the familiar face, soon recognizing Allison and her red-haired friend on one bench and, next to Isaac, Stiles; he was laughing with the red-head when Isaac nudged him in the ribs, and he looked up.

“You made it!” Stiles said happily, when Derek came close enough. “Here, we saved the end of the table.”

“Thanks.” Bashful while at the centre of attention, Derek sat in the free chair. They were all just cramped enough on the patio that he felt he knee brush Stiles’ accidentally.

“Everyone, this is Derek,” Stiles said, steamrolling any potential awkwardness. “Derek, this is Lydia, Allison, and Isaac.”

Derek greeted everyone in turn with a nod, just as a waitress appeared at his elbow to take drink orders. Stiles and his friends were clearly familiar with the menu, rattling off the names of cocktails and brews he’d never heard of before. When she looked to him expectantly, he just said, “Whatever’s on tap.”

“Not a picky drinker?” Stiles asked, as his friends fell back into their own conversations.

“Not really,” Derek answered. “I’ll try anything once.”

“That’s the spirit.”

As Derek settled in and steadily sipped at his drink, his comfort grew, and he learned more about Stiles’ friends in two hours than he’d ever known about his so-called friends back in New York. It turned out that kink wasn’t a mandatory subject of conversation but a common one anyway at such events. He’d known from the workshop that Isaac was Allison’s sub, but she apparently had a second by the name of Scott, and the three of them were involved in a loose polyamory situation. Lydia called herself a sadistic femdom in a fairly long-term relationship with a guy called Jackson who wasn’t present, and Stiles, apparently, was single and a switch.

“It’s all too much fun,” he said, with a wink. “I couldn’t limit myself.”

“What about you, Derek?” Lydia asked.

“Uh. Just exploring,” he said, relieved when everyone present nodded in understanding. “I haven’t been with anyone seriously since my last boyfriend a handful of years ago, and my current partner is also pretty new to things; she works mostly in New York.”

“Well, we know plenty of good people here,” Lydia assured him, patting his arm. “If you ever feel curious.”

Careful not to choke on his drink, Derek inclined his head. “Right. Thanks.”

She smiled, somehow exuding sweetness and subtle yet unmistakable authority at the same time.

A bit later on, when Derek returned from a quick trip to the bathroom, Stiles turned to face him and leaned in.

“So. Did you get a chance to try out your new stuff?”

“Not yet,” Derek said, thinking to the unopened bag stashed at the back of his closet. “My friend works a lot. I don’t see her all that often.”

“That’s too bad. Does she have experience in kink?”

“I don’t think so. At least, not in the way that you guys do. I don’t think she knows the half of it. I mean, there was so much at the workshop that I’d never even considered before. Everything about communication and boundaries and safety.” He gestured vaguely. “I kind of wish it had been in high school sex ed. Maybe without the floggers and paddles and stuff.”

Stiles laughed, but not unkindly. “No, I totally get you. That’s always what’s drawn me too BDSM too. Once you find a good partner and iron out what you want and need from each other… Nothing compares. It’s amazing, that kind of trust.”

Mulling over those words, Derek cradled his glass and was quiet for a moment before he said, “Sounds like you’ve had that before.”

“Once or twice,” Stiles allowed, meeting Derek’s eyes. “Not in a while, though.”

It had gotten late at that point, so it wasn’t long before everyone was paying up and making their way outside the bar onto the sidewalk. Warmth still rose up from the concrete underfoot, but a gentle breeze cooled the sweat prickling at Derek’s temples. For the first time in a while, he didn’t find himself hating the lingering heat.

“Hey,” Stiles said, catching him just before he could turn for the bus stop across the road. “Can I give you my number? I can let you know if we go to any events or anything.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” Butterflies sprouting in his stomach, Derek presented his phone and watched as Stiles plugged in his digits and sent himself a quick text.

“Neat.” Stiles grinned, teeth flashing. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Yeah, you too.”

He then melted into the evening dusk with his friends, leaving Derek to find his way back to his apartment in hazy amazement that he’d actually done it. He’d spent an evening amongst people who were essentially strangers, and he hadn’t imploded.

Alone on the bus, he smiled to himself just a little.

Life continued, and Derek didn’t immediately hear from Stiles. To be fair, Derek also didn’t reach out himself, and he found small relief in letting some of the nervous energy of the end of the summer fizzle out until he was back to his usual routine of working and running and seeing Cora. He finally did get around to texting Laura back, telling her that yes, he was still alive and yes, he did remember that their mother’s birthday was coming up. He’d make sure to send a nice flower arrangement, like he did every year.

On the Friday following the munch, he had a therapy appointment scheduled, so he hopped into his rarely-used car and drove south to Rosemont.

Emma Hall ran a private psychology practice out of her own home, having converted a portion of the main floor into an office from which she conducted therapy with clients at her leisure. Derek had been lucky to find her when he did. She didn’t often have free space, but he knew now that she tended to keep parts of her schedule open at all times, just in case somebody really in need crossed her path. It was that kind of altruism that also had her charging on a sliding scale for those less privileged.

Derek had insisted from the beginning that he pay her full price for each session. He could, and she deserved it. Years into their relationship, they now only met once a month. In the beginning, when he’d been sleeping on a bare mattress with no drive to even put the sheets on his bed, it had been twice a week.

Things had improved since then.

Waiting in her front hall, Derek breathed in the familiar scent of the house and let his eyes touch upon familiar surroundings; a painting of a beach covering the opposite wall, a blue rug underfoot, gentle ticking from the clock further away in the kitchen. No matter how unsettled he ever felt, he could relax here.

Five minutes to his allotted time, Emma opened the door to her office and beckoned him inside. “Derek,” she said warmly. “Good to see you.”

Twenty or so years his senior, Emma Hall was tall, taller than he was, with legs made for ballet dancing. She always wore a cashmere sweater and slender, bootcut jeans, with her grey hair styled in a smooth bob. Though soft and comforting in nature, he knew she could lay down the law and be as stern as she needed to be, especially when it came to essentially saving a life.

As he settled into his preferred spot on her couch, she crossed her legs and set her tablet on her thigh to take notes.

“So,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Stable,” Derek said, truthfully. “Work has been good, and Cora is doing well.”

“How about Kate? Have things progressed?”

Shaking his head, Derek laced his fingers between his knees. “No. In fact, I barely saw her all summer. She dropped in twice, maybe.”

Emma watched him calmly. “I know we talked in our last session about personal relationships. I wondered if you’d given any more thought to that topic.”

“Not-“ He cut himself off. “I do text Laura. I try to text her back, I mean.”

“Okay.” Emma made a note.

“I also think I’ve made a friend.”

Emma’s graceful eyebrows raised, and she smiled a little. “Oh?”

“Not like that,” he grumbled.

“Forgive me,” she replied, amused. “You referred to Kate as a ‘friend’ for such a long time before finally telling me who she was.”

Derek snorted despite himself. “Fair enough. No, I think an actual friend, this time. I went to a workshop, and he worked at the store there. We talked again when I went back to buy some stuff, and I’ve been out to a bar with him and his friends.”

Emma’s eyebrows raised even further. “That’s quite impressive.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t think so? Compared to how you felt in Sacramento when you first moved here?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Emma tapped on her leg thoughtfully. “What is it about this new person that’s made connecting easier?”

He’d never wanted to lie to Emma before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“I guess I found him attractive at first,” he confessed. “Still do. Besides that, he’s open and friendly. He doesn’t seem to mind if I’m a little quiet or acting awkward, and he didn’t ignore me even with his friends around.”

“He’s accepting you for who you are.”

Derek just nodded. He swallowed. “It feels like a lot.”

“How so?”

“It feels like… potential. It’s so easy. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks, but I have no doubt that it would be so easy to text him and hang out.”

Emma nodded. “Why not do that?”

“I can’t-“

He cut himself off, frustrated.

“You can’t…?” Emma prompted.

“I feel like I fought so hard for everything,” he said softly. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Unfolding her legs, Emma ignored her tablet momentarily and looked straight at him with sincerity.

“You have fought hard,” she said. “But there will always be tough moments, no matter how much you try to avoid them. When you refuse to experience the lows, you also rob yourself of the highs at the same time.” She paused. “You’re not alone in weathering uncertainty. You have the tools you need to keep yourself from slipping, and I will always be here to help you if you need it, but you’ve been in survival mode for a long time, Derek.”

He dropped his gaze between his knees, ears ringing with her gentle truths.

“I would encourage you to think more about what you want from life now that the storm has passed. Don’t forget how far you’ve come already.”

The following Friday, after a lowkey week of working on reports and rearranging his plants several times, Derek woke early to a text that had been delivered overnight. He valued his sleep above almost everything else, so he always kept his phone on silent after nine in the evening.

_Stiles [7:03] – happy friday! any plans for tonight?_

Derek replied before he could think too hard.

_Derek [8:50] – Don’t think so._

Kate’s flight was scheduled to arrive around ten the next morning; she only ever spent one night with Derek at a time.

_Stiles [8:55] – we’re partying after work, wanted to extent an invite :)_

_Derek [8:55] – I think I’m a little old for clubbing._

_Stiles [8:56] – ahaha, don’t worry, it’s at lydia’s place. dancing optional_

_Stiles [8:56] – lots of kinky friends to make, if you want :)_

Stiles seemed to like his smiley faces.

_Derek [8:57] – Can’t stay late, but I’ll stop by._

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling above his bed, white walls glowing where the morning sun washed over them, and waited for the usual seeds of anxiety to take root in his belly. When they didn’t, he tentatively allowed himself the small victory.

 _See,_ he thought inwardly. _I can have a social life without the world burning down._

_Stiles [9:00]: ok!_

His next text was an address for a swanky condominium closer to the river.

Pretty much done with work for the week, Derek spent the rest of his day getting the loft ready for his weekend visitor.

He’d known Kate, on and off, for close to two years, and he knew her tastes and expectations fairly well. He stripped and remade his bed, vacuumed and swept, and took stock of the contents of his fridge. That lead to a trip to the local grocery store, where he picked up her favourites: various charcuterie ingredients, fancier tonic water, and fresh vegetables for morning omelettes.

As he stood in his kitchen, prepping food for cooking with gentle indie music playing from his wall-mounted speakers, Derek found himself actually excited for the weekend, for once in his monotonous life. He had a party to go to and a beautiful woman coming to visit him; life didn’t seem so bad in that moment.

That good mood lasted until around seven.

He was in his room, on speakerphone with Cora as he weighed different clothing options for the evening.

“The dark Levi’s,” Cora said with finality. “Speaking objectively as your sister, they make your legs look longer.”

“Can’t,” Derek said, folding said pants. “Need them for tomorrow. Kate likes them.”

“Yuck, don’t tell me that. What about the black ones?”

“In the laundry.”

“C’mon, Derek, work with me here.”

While he chuckled and crossed the room to his dresser, his phone binged with an incoming text. “One sec,” he said to Cora, thumbing open his messages app. “Got a text.”

“Ooh. I hope it’s Stiles telling you to remember condoms.”

It wasn’t Stiles telling him to remember condoms. It wasn’t Stiles at all.

_Kate [7:10] – Hi babe. Change of plans, staying in New York this weekend. Sorry for the last minute notice! XO_

Derek sat heavily on the end of his bed. Cold disappointment and, unexpectedly, the distant sting of humiliation, flooded him

“Der?”

He sighed deeply. “It was Kate. She’s not coming.”

Cora was quiet for a long moment. “Did she give a reason?”

“No. I wouldn’t expect one anyway.” He tossed his phone aside and dropped his head into his hands. How pathetic was he that the only blip of excitement he’d had in weeks was because of a woman he couldn’t even count on to show up when she said she would. A woman who was barely his friend, let alone his girlfriend.

“Christ,” he muttered.

“You okay?”

Derek didn’t answer, staring hard at his bare toes against the freshly vacuumed carpet.

“Come on, dude,” Cora said. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I’m not beating myself up,” he retorted weakly.

“I know you are. I know you probably spent most of today getting shit ready for her, just to get blown off. All is not lost.”

He leveled a flat look at the far wall of the apartment. “How so?”

“The party!” Cora exclaimed. “Go and get trashed with cute Stiles and his neat friends. I’ve stalked all of them online, and I’m honestly kind of jealous of you. If there’s a sex swing, I want pictures.”

Derek snorted. “I doubt there’ll be a sex swing.”

“Pictures, Derek.”

“Hm.” Pausing, he twisted around and gabbed onto the folded Levi’s, the ones that made his legs look longer. “Yeah, I’m still gonna go.”

Cora made a satisfied noise. “Good. And tomorrow, I’ll come over and we’ll eat whatever fancy food you bought for she-who-shall-not-be-named while you’re hungover.”

“Deal.”

Stiles had told him in another text that he could arrive anytime after seven to hang out a bit before the party really got going. So, after dressing in his good jeans and making sure he had his keys and wallet, Derek shrugged on his favourite jacket and hailed a cab to take him across town.

Lydia’s building was seriously nice. Every surface in the lobby gleamed, and he had to give his name to a well-dressed security guy before he would let Derek by to the mirrored elevator doors behind him. While he wasn’t headed to the penthouse, he still considered the twelfth floor a good score, and the elevator rose quickly and smoothly. Double checking his phone for the number, he walked down the long hall and knocked gingerly on apartment twelve-oh-eight.

Lydia opened the door, and he blinked in shock. She looked unreal in a tight black number, slender legs on display, platform heels boosting her height at least five inches. A pair of sharp-looking silver earrings dangled from her ears, and she wore a slim choker.

“Derek,” she greeted him, glistening lips widening into a smile. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he said, stepping inside. “Should I have dressed up more?”

She closed the door and appraised him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You look stunning.” Walking ahead down the front hall, she added, over her shoulder, “You could wear a paper bag on the red carpet with cheekbones like that.”

Flushing, Derek followed after her into a gorgeous, open-concept kitchen space. Everything was finished in quality marble and polished chrome, and he was immediately jealous of the gas range set into one of the counters. Beyond a posh dining table with space-age chairs arranged around it, a wide living space sprawled, complete with low couches, sleek end tables, and accent pieces that probably cost more individually than everything in Derek’s apartment combined. Tall windows boasted a twinkling view of downtown Sacramento, and the lighting throughout the condo had been tastefully dimmed.

“Hey, you made it!” a voice said by Derek’s shoulder. Startled, he turned, and he was left momentarily speechless for the second time that night.

Stiles wore jeans as well, thank god, though they were much darker and hugged his legs a little closer than Derek’s. He also had on a casual blazer and, underneath, a sheer top of fine netting, the lines of his chest showing through clearly. Derek blinked when he met Stiles’ eyes; they’d definitely been ringed with a touch of eyeliner.

“Hey,” Derek said, forcing himself to be casual. “You look amazing.”

Stiles’ face lit up in delight. “Thank you! So do you! Drink?”

“Please.”

Lydia had a full bar setup behind one of the couches. As they made their way over, Derek counted only a handful of guests so far, noting a few familiar faces in Allison and Isaac.

“Small crowd so far,” he commented, snagging a nice German beer and uncapping it.

“It’ll liven up,” Stiles said, leaning on one elbow. “Lydia’s picky with who she let’s in the front door, but she has a lot of friends.”

“No kidding, I wouldn’t let just anyone in here either.”

“It’s nice, right?” Stiles said, gesturing around with his glass, ice cube clinking in clear liquid. “It was a gift from her family when they disowned her.”

“Fuck.” Derek barely avoided choking on his first sip.

“Yep,” Stiles said, nodding. “They found out what she did with her honours business degree, and it all went downhill from there.”

“The shop?”

“Mhm.” Stiles then straightened as another blond man with a handsome face approached the bar. “Jackson! Have you met Derek yet?”

The newcomer, most likely Lydia’s Jackson, gave Derek an obvious onceover before extending his hand for a formal handshake. “Pleasure,” he said lightly. He then quickly poured a shot of gin into a glass and disappeared.

Stiles snorted. “What a gem.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, he’s just a dick,” Stiles said, raising his voice slightly so that Jackson heard from his place beside Lydia. He sneered in reply. Turning closer to Derek, Stiles added, “He’s totally harmless, really. Let’s go sit with the others.”

As guests continued to arrive over the next hour and the music was turned up, Derek worked up a happy buzz as he talked freely with Allison and Isaac and Stiles. They were so easy to get along with, and he didn’t find himself overthinking his comments and anecdotes like he usually expected to in similar circumstances.

Sometime into his second drink, he caught a glimpse, while Allison and Stiles started debating the pros and cons of vinyl floggers, of a slim silver collar that Isaac wore, just visible under the fabric of his shirt. Isaac noticed him noticing.

“Scott has one too,” he said, tapping against the ring at his throat. “Allison likes us to wear them in public with her.”

Derek frowned slightly. “Does she make you?”

“She never makes us do anything we haven’t previously agreed to,” Isaac assured him, taking a small sip from his drink. “And anything can be vetoed in the moment, but we’ve known each other so long that she knows our boundaries very well.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Isaac eyed him, expression inquisitive in the darkened light of the condo. “Is it something you’re interested in? A BDSM relationship?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answered. He shook his head absently. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

“But you have thought about it.”

“Maybe a little.”

Isaac chuckled. “You don’t have to be certain.” He inclined his head slightly towards where Stiles sat by Derek’s side, still caught up in his discussion with Allison. “You’d be in good hands if you were curious, that’s all.”

Heat flooded Derek’s cheeks, and he couldn’t keep a small smile from his lips. Isaac grinned back at him and raised his glass in a toast before downing the rest of his drink.

When Isaac and Allison stood and migrated away from the couches, Stiles leaned against the couch and rested his arm along the back. “They like you,” he said.

“I like them too,” Derek replied honestly. “I don’t have many friends in Sacramento. Any, actually.”

“Now you have four,” Stiles said, rubbing his thumb on Derek’s shoulder lightly. “I can introduce you to more, if you’d like.”

“Lead the way.” Derek didn’t know when he’d next be feeling so sociable, so he thought he should use the situation to his advantage to meet people. Emma and Cora would like that.

As the clock steadily turned to midnight, Derek head spun with the names and faces of Stiles’ endless acquaintances. People had worn everything from general partywear to harnesses and collars and corsets, no fashion choices unwelcome. There was no shame and no judgment. Derek found it kind of beautiful.

Later on, he lost track of Stiles for a while and glued himself to Lydia, who didn’t mind the extra attention. Though Jackson hovered quietly by her side, she was happy to chat with Derek and tell him all about every person that passed by; she really did have a lot of friends.

“And what about you, Derek?” she asked finally, like she’d done at the munch earlier in the month. “What’s your story?”

“Short version?” He pursed his lips, considering. “I studied and worked in New York, was kind of a big shot for a while. Things went downhill for a few reasons, and I picked up and moved here.”

“Downhill how?” she asked boldly.

Derek let out a breath. “Uh. Well, my mental health took a turn.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It was tough, but I’ve been better for a long while.”

Though her eyes continued to inspect him with acute interest, her face softened a little at that. Then, she broke the moment between them by smirking. “I think your rescuer is here.” Sure enough, Stiles had stepped up to Derek’s elbow.

“Is Lydia being pushy?” Stiles inquired, scowling at his friend. “I told her to lay off.”

“Derek and I were getting to know each other,” Lydia answered breezily, sliding her free arm around Jackson’s waist.

“Uh huh. Sure.” Stiles turned to Derek. “Wanna get some air?”

“Sounds good.”

They bid farewell to Lydia and Jackson before weaving through the gathered crowd to the front windows of the condo. One pane moved aside as a sliding door, revealing an outer patio on which a handful of people stood chatting in loose circles, most of them smoking.

“Over here,” Stiles said, beckoning Derek towards a free spot at the railing of the balcony. As they leaned against it together, Derek took a deep cleansing breath and took in the view.

Groups of partiers wandered the streets below, and the lights of the city flickered far into the distance until fading into the night sky. Tiny cars zipped down faraway highways, and the moon was just a thin sliver low on the horizon between the spires of Tower Bridge.

“I’ve never seen the city like this,” he admitted, voice quieter now that they were removed from the party indoors.

“No?”

“I told you, I live a quiet life.” Derek fell silent for a moment. “I have since I moved here.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Stiles said. Looking to the side, Derek noticed then that Stiles had lost his blazer at some point. The sheer fabric of his t-shirt grazed the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles of his biceps, and Derek could just make out a pair of dusky nipples underneath.

When he met Stiles’ eyes, Stiles was already gazing at him.

“Kate cancelled on me,” Derek said suddenly, the words falling from his lips as Stiles parted his gently in surprise.

“Your friend?”

“Yeah. She was supposed to fly in tomorrow. She texted me to cancel just before I came over.”

Stiles hummed and looked out at the city. “Sorry. That blows.”

“I’ve been stupid,” Derek muttered. “Waiting for her, I mean.” He finished his beer and picked at the label. “It probably would have flopped anyway.”

“What would have?” Stiles asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Trying anything kinky. She’s always been impatient, fast-paced.”

“Doesn’t seem like your type,” Stiles mused.

“She isn’t,” Derek said with finality, slightly startling himself.

His words settled heavily between them.

After a moment, Stiles carefully reached across and plucked Derek’s empty bottle from his hands. He stooped to place it on the ground, and then straightened, standing closer than before so that his hip just brushed Derek’s.

Derek’s breath caught.

“So, what is your type?” Stiles asked, voice low.

“I think… More.” Turning, Derek shook his head minutely. “There’s suddenly so much I want to learn about. So much I haven’t tried.”

“There’s no rush,” Stiles said, a reassuring hand raising to rest on Derek’s arm. “You can take your time.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s mouth felt so dry.

“Of course.” The corner of Stiles’ mouth quirked up. “In the meantime, you should know that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve met in a long time, and I’d really like to kiss you.”

Derek had no words left, so he gave a tiny nod of acquiescence. Stiles’ eyes flicked up, his lips stretching into a full smile, before he angled his head and closed the distance between their mouths. He kissed warmly and with confidence, inviting Derek into a slow dance of lips and tongues to the muffled bass coming from inside the condo. Their chests pressed together with intent as Stiles raised his arms to loop over Derek’s shoulders, and Derek let himself palm the slim waist he’d been thinking about since that first day at the workshop, Stiles’ skin firm and smooth through the flimsy fabric of his shirt.

When they parted, after a final lingering kiss, Stiles thumbed at the skin of Derek’s neck and sucked his own bottom lip into his mouth as if chasing Derek’s taste on his skin.

“Shit,” he breathed. “If you were anyone else, I’d ask you to come home with me tonight.”

“But?”

“I want more from you than a one-night stand,” Stiles said, eyes dark.

“Me too,” Derek whispered, feeling lighter for the admission.

Stiles’ lower lip glistened in the dim light from the street below, so Derek took it between his again, and they kissed on Lydia’s balcony long into the night until most of the party’s guests had left and the night air began to cool against their heated skin.

The next morning, Derek was woken up abruptly by someone knocking on his front door. With a deep groan, he pushed himself upright and stumbled across the apartment to let Cora in. She whistled when she took him it, shirtless chest and bedhead completing his morning-after look.

“Damn. How’s the headache?” she asked, brushing past him to set a canvas bag on his kitchen island. “Do I need to go to the pharmacy?”

“I’m fine,” Derek yawned. He sat on a barstool and watched as she took out pancake mix and packaged turkey bacon. “I didn’t drink a lot, honestly. I just stayed late.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cora raised a playful eyebrow, wielding a frying pan in one hand. “And?”

Derek rubbed his face and said, muffled by his hands, “We kissed.”

“Yes!” Still holding the frying pan, she danced in a victorious circle, slightly too awake and bright-eyed for Derek to be handling at the moment.

“I fucking knew it,” she crowed, setting the pan on the stove and turning on the element. As she sidled to the fridge to retrieve butter, she added, “Sorry if it makes me a dick, but I’m kind of glad Kate cancelled.”

“Honestly, me too.”

“Wow.” Butter in hand, Cora turned and pointed a spatula at him. “So. Is it over?”

Derek lifted his shoulders and scratched at his scruff. He probably needed to shave soon. “I haven’t texted her or anything, but it’s been well over a month since we last saw each other anyway.”

“Are you seeing Stiles again?”

“Monday,” Derek confirmed, fighting a smile at the memory of kissing Stiles goodnight and making plans to meet again before getting into his cab home.

“Think about what you’re looking for,” Stiles had murmured against his mouth. “We’ll talk.”

In the present, Cora set a mixing bowl on the island and fished in a drawer for measuring cups. “See? Good things happen when I force you to go and be social.” Satisfied with herself, she pointed at Derek, and then at the fridge. “You’re on egg duty. I’m not your servant.”

With that, Derek huffed and stood to made himself useful.

Together, they made a full spread of pancakes and fresh fruit and omelettes with feta, olives, and tomato and spent the afternoon lounging on Derek’s futon, watching shows they could both agree on and munching on the nice cheeses and meats Derek had originally bought for Kate’s refined palette.

Later, Stiles texted him to ask how he was, message complete with two smiley faces, and Derek immediately counted that weekend as his favourite ever since arriving in Sacramento all those years ago.

Leading up to Monday, Derek threw himself into research, determined to know as much as possible in preparation for his meeting with Stiles. He read the books he’d bought from _Ally’s Armory_ from cover to cover and spent a significant amount of his Sunday online, finding educational websites and videos and learning more about kink than he’d ever known existed.

As suggested in the guides for tops and bottoms he’d purchased, he also started some lists on his laptop, keeping track of ideas that turned him on, things he was curious about, and concepts that were absolute no’s. It ended up being fairly lengthy, numerous kinks and fetishes in all three sections, and he felt pretty proud of himself as he saved the document.

It was good that he’d decided to make it, because, on his way to the downtown café they’d decided to meet at, it was the fact that he’d already put in so much effort that kept his nerves from turning him around.

 _No reason to be self-conscious,_ he told himself firmly. Stiles already knew that he was new to things.

Upon entering the nondescript café, Derek knew he’d made the right suggestion. He’d visited before, on days when working from home wasn’t doing his cabin fever any good, and he knew the place to be fairly unbusy, especially on weekdays. Tables and lounge chairs were spaced far enough apart that conversations couldn’t be overheard easily, and the coffee was actually decent.

Stiles was already there, a plaid shirt thrown over his work top and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on his nose that Derek had never seen on him before.

“Those are new,” Derek said as he approached, taking the seat across from Stiles.

Looking up in surprise, Stiles set his phone down and grinned. “The glasses? They’re actually extremely old, hence the rims straight out of the eighties. I usually wear contacts, but I had a late start this morning.”

“I like them.”

“You’re about the only person, then,” Stiles said in amusement. “Good weekend?”

“Yeah, actually,” Derek replied, thinking over his time with Cora and his lazy Sunday. “I saw my sister and got some quality sleep in.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not twenty anymore. I can’t just bounce back from a late night out.”

“That might be, but I’m glad you came,” Stiles said, eyes twinkling in the overhead lights of the café. “You guys sound close.”

“Me and Cora? Extremely. I have another sister, Laura, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Stiles nodded. “I was an only child, although Scott is basically my brother. I mean, our parents got married last year.”

“Allison’s Scott?”

“The very same.” Stiles glanced down his coffee, and then up at Derek. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask. Did you want something before we jump in?”

“I’m fine.” Derek’s stomach felt too full of proverbial butterflies, a common occurrence around Stiles, to handle food or drink.

“Okay.” Clasping his hands between his knees, Stiles licked his lips. “In that case, I think it would be good to start with both of us saying what we want, no judgement, just everything out on the table.” He met Derek’s eyes. “Sound okay?”

“For sure.”

“Cool.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll start?”

“Works for me,” Derek said, finding Stiles’ subtle anxiety a little endearing.

“Right. Well, essentially, I really like you,” Stiles began. “I find you stupidly attractive, and I want to see more of you, whether that involves kink or not. As a switch, I’m fairly versatile, so we could explore whatever you wanted to within certain boundaries, and I would very much like to do that with you, if you feel the same way. I’ve also recently had a full STI screening, which came back clear.” He let out a breath and smiled sheepishly. “That’s my angle.”

During Stiles’ short speech, excited anticipation had taken root in Derek’s chest. “I got checked after Kate’s last visit, so I’m all good there. As for the rest, I’m in the same place,” he replied. “Except for the lack of experience, obviously. And…” He trailed off, putting the words together in his mind. “I’m not a hundred percent certain where my preferences are going to lie in the end, but, um, I’m probably leaning more towards submission.”

His voice had grown quieter as he’d spoken, but Stiles hadn’t missed a word. The younger man just nodded, said, “Cool beans. We can start there,” and the tension bled from Derek’s shoulders.

“I have a list,” Derek then said, holding up his phone. “Hard limits, and stuff like that.”

Unexpectedly, Stiles chuckled and wiped a hand across his eyes. “God, you’re just perfect. Seriously.”

Derek furrowed his brow. “I though it might be standard procedure.”

“First of all, don’t worry about procedure or anything like that. It’s just you and I defining how we want to do things. Second? I’ve had partners approach me in person or online, and they tell me that they straight up have zero boundaries, that nothing is off limits.” Stiles grimaced. “No one wants to head into a scene blind like that.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah. So, a list is great.” Adorably, Stiles seemed to fidget a little in his seat. “Can I look at it?”

“Absolutely.” After pulling up the document on his phone, Derek handed the device over and settled back to wait while Stiles’ eye flitted across the screen. Weirdly enough, he didn’t feel too vulnerable handing that information over; it simply contained the truth, and he counted Stiles a friend, if not a little more, now.

A pleased expression crept across Stiles’ face as he scrolled down the document with a long finger. “This is awesome,” he said, almost to himself. “We can have _so_ much fun with this.” He paused. “Have you ever had anal sex?”

“Yes. But I’ve never bottomed.”

“Is that something you’d want to try?”

A bolt of heat shot down Derek’s spine, his cock twitching in his jeans.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles said quietly, attention back on the list, tongue poking out past his lip as he read.

“I feel like it’s just the basics,” Derek felt the need to add, after another moment of silence. “I don’t think I’m into pain?”

“Yeah, all good.” Stiles sat up in one fluid motion and handed Derek his phone back. “If anyone ever tells you otherwise, run far away in the opposite direction. Seriously.” He then grinned, quick and promising. “You can do a heck of a lot with very little, if you’re creative about it.”

That intent look sent chills across Derek’s shoulders. “And you are?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Derek had never wanted to find out something more in his life.

“Yes.”

Once Stiles finished his coffee, he walked them north for a few blocks, all the while chatting to Derek about the business and his friends and, every now and then, his family. Derek kept things rolling by talking at length about his work and the kinds of projects he supported.

“Crops yields and soil moisture,” Stiles echoed, finally stopping outside a brightly-coloured two storey building. “That sounds so cool.”

“Keyword being ‘sounds’.”

“Aw, it can’t be that boring.” He fished for his keys in his pocket and let them in through the front door. “You ever get to run around in the wild for research purposes?”

“A long time ago,” Derek mused, thinking back to his days spent in the field as a keen undergraduate. Once inside the front door, they went up a steep flight of stairs to the second floor, where Stiles unlocked a second door.

“Man. All I do is work at a shop,” he complained, kicking off his shoes when he entered his apartment.

“An award-winning sex education business,” Derek reminded him.

“True,” Stiles said, throwing a sly look over his shoulder. “At least I get wicked discounts.”

It was evident by the collection of personal items visible in the bathroom and the mess in the kitchen sink that Stiles had a roommate, though no one else seemed home at the moment. Once his shoes were off, Derek followed Stiles through the cozy apartment to a bedroom at the back that looked over a leafy yard and back alley. The room appeared exactly how Derek expected the living space of someone not too long out of college to look, complete with an exposed brick wall, a low bedframe, and an impressive sound system.

“Nice,” he commented, nodding towards the equipment set up on a low table.

“My one investment,” Stiles explained, shrugging off his outer shirt and draping it over a desk chair by the main window. “Anywhere can be home if you have a good set of speakers. Any preferences?”

“Whatever you were listening to.” That turned out to be an album of gentle rock by an artist Derek thought he recognized but couldn’t name. While Stiles busied himself queuing up tracks, Derek sat on the edge of the bed and stretched out his legs, taking light note of the evidence of Stiles’ life around him; a concert poster, a stylized print of a woman suspended in rope, a collection of printed photos covering one bare wall.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, as Stiles straightened, all of his long body on display in front of Derek.

“About three years,” Stiles answered. On light socked feet, he stepped between Derek’s relaxed legs and raised a hand to stroke easily down the side of Derek’s face. “Do you shave?”

“Sometimes.” For Kate, mostly, if he was being totally honest with himself.

Stiles smiled. “You should let it grow out.” Then he bent at the waist and kissed Derek’s mouth without preamble. After, pulling back only a few centimetres, he said, “Sorry. I’ve thought about doing that again all weekend.”

“Don’t apologize,” Derek told him, voice rough. He scooted back just a little and pulled Stiles down onto his lap by his hands. Happily, Stiles sank against him, knees bracketing Derek’s thighs, their hips, stomachs, lips coming together, as easily as breathing.

To the quiet soundtrack of guitar riffs and drums, they nipped and mouthed and licked into each other. Hands wandered, sweeping up to caress the curve of a neck, the hair at the back of a head, down shoulders and arms to slip underneath skin-warmed fabric. Derek’s breath stuttered when Stiles brushed soft knuckles along his bare stomach, and he willingly lifted his arms when Stiles tugged upwards on his top. Wanting to get his own fill, Derek reached for Stiles’ shirt as soon as his hands were free.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, tracing his lips across Stiles’ collarbone and down his chest to land somewhere below his nipple. He touched his tongue to the clean-tasting skin there.

“Me? Have you seen you?”

“Irrelevant.”

Stiles laughed and pushed against Derek’s shoulders. When Derek pulled his head back, Stiles inclined his head. “Lie down,” he said, gently. Derek did as directed, sliding himself backwards until he rested his head on a pillow, and Stiles followed him, coming to loom over Derek, straddling his stomach.

“I’d love to blow you,” Stiles murmured as he dragged a lazy finger down the centre of Derek’s neck, scratching lightly along his breastbone. “Nothing fancy. Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah. Please.”

Before long, all final clothing had been tossed to the floor, and Derek found himself completely nude, on his back, on someone else’s bed. For all that the situation was a definite deviation from his normal routine, he felt right, settled. The view was definitely helping; Stiles was all lithe muscle and unmarked skin when naked, his cock elegant and the most gorgeous rosy pink at the tip, but Derek didn’t really get a chance to appreciate all the new territory before Stiles had slithered back on all fours like a cat and taken Derek’s own cock into his mouth.

He gave head like he kissed. Smooth and certain and patient in a way that had Derek dropping his head back on an exhale, eyes slipping shut. Instinctively, he reached out a hand and groaned low in his throat when he found Stiles’ head and cupped his hand through soft hair. Stiles had no objections, judging from the happy hum he let loose.

Derek knew he wouldn’t last long. He hadn’t had sex with a real human being since July, hadn’t had such an intimate encounter with someone in years and years, possibly ever. When his orgasm gathered between his hips, he surfaced just long enough to murmur a quick warning Stiles, who didn’t miss a beat, just pushed himself up on one elbow and jacked Derek to completion.

It was Stiles’ expression that pushed Derek over the edge in the end. The hunger and promise naked on his face.

Moments later, as he came down from his high, Derek just caught the brush of lips against his stomach, and a whispered, “The things I’m gonna do to you.”

A deep quiet settled in Derek’s chest, and he closed his eyes again, letting himself float for a soft moment.


	3. October

The following Friday, Derek found himself shirtless and kneeling in the centre of Stiles’ living room, a thin pillow and clean towel under his knees as he gazed at the sofa before him, half-listening while Stiles arranged something on the coffee table in the background. The apartment was quiet except for the distant sounds of Sacramento at night slipping in through a cracked-open window in the kitchen.

He’d arrived at about five, and they’d cooked a simple meal together with the radio on for company, seasoned chicken with fresh vegetables and a homemade vinaigrette. Scott was spending the weekend with Isaac and Allison, so they’d been able to sit together at the tiny dining table, updating each other on their work weeks. Following dinner, after clearing away their dishes, Stiles had sat down again and given Derek a freshly-printed piece of paper.

“I consolidated your list with a few of my own limits,” he’d explained. “How does it look to you?”

“It looks great,” Derek had replied. There had only been a few changes; Stiles apparently didn’t like to bruise or draw blood from his partners, something Derek had originally put in his ‘curious about’ column, and he’d also added in a section on his preferred aftercare activities, which included rest with snacks and water. He noticed that any kind of penetration had been left out of the ‘yes’ list. “And if either of us wants to try more…?”

“Then we talk. Before we try whatever it is.”

“Okay.”

Satisfied, Stiles had nodded. “Did you want to try a small scene tonight? I was thinking of keeping it simple; a bit of power play with some light bondage.”

Derek’s heartbeat had skipped into excited overdrive as he’d said, “Sounds perfect.” Stiles had then taken his hand to pull him to stand, kissed his cheek, and told him to find a comfortable place to kneel in front of the couch. The pillow and towel had been waiting for him on an end table.

While he’d felt jittery at first, Derek had been kneeling by himself for about five minutes while Stiles puttered between his bedroom and the kitchen, and a novel calm had already started to replace his nerves. He concentrated on relaxing his body similarly to how he would when dealing with a bought of anxiety, consciously releasing his neck and shoulders, all the way down to his stomach and legs and feet so that by the time he felt fingers brush his shoulder, his eyes had closed, and his heartbeat had slowed considerably.

“Hey,” Stiles said, keeping his voice lowered. Derek blinked his eyes open just as Stiles carefully sat himself down on the couch, directly in front of Derek’s position on the floor. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Derek replied. He cleared his throat lightly. “Calm.”

Stiles smiled at that, bringing up his hand to stroke around the curve of Derek’s temple to under his jaw. At the gentle nudge, Derek lifted his chin slightly.

“I like to hear that. I want this to be a space you can relax in. Let go of any worries.” A long moment of silence passed between them, during which Stiles kept his thumb running along the hinge of Derek’s jaw. Finally, “I’d like to bind your hands. Colour?”

“Green.”

Reaching behind Derek with a long arm, Stiles brought back two items: a length of black rope, and a set of simple leather cuffs that looked soft and worn.

“Your choice,” Stiles said.

“Cuffs.”

“In front, or behind your back?”

Derek hesitated, considering, before saying, “Behind.” He remembered vividly how it had felt to be bound at the workshop; he wanted that feeling again.

Corner of his mouth lifting, Stiles set the rope aside and unbuckled the cuffs in his lap. “Just so you know, you won’t always get so many choices,” he warned, tone firm but eyes playful. “Turn around for me.”

As he’d been told, Derek lifted himself on his knees and turned his back to Stiles. “I’m glad you’re feeling generous today,” he said lightly, though his amusement quickly melted into shivers of anticipation when he felt breath against his ear and tender lips on the side of his neck and heard a gentle voice murmur, “Don’t get used to it.”

Once his wrists were encased in leather and clipped together, Derek dropped his shoulders back and let his body settle into the new position. Like before, the hint of vulnerability had goosebumps trailing down his arms, starting from where Stiles rested his palms on his shoulders, and his cock began to grow more interested in the proceedings under his sweatpants.

“You look beautiful like this,” Stiles breathed, again close to Derek’s ear. “So much strength held back, just for me. I’d be happy just to keep you here like this, waiting patiently on your knees.”

Derek breathed slowly through what he was sure would have been a tiny whine otherwise as Stiles slid his fingers across Derek’s collarbones and continued, sounded unfairly unaffected.

“Mm. I can see you’re starting to get hard already. All it took was my voice, but you can’t even touch yourself, can you? You’ll just have to wait until I decide what I feel like doing.” He kissed Derek’s shoulder and hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I don’t want to do anything at all. Maybe all I feel like doing is taking out your cock and watching as you get even harder, so desperate for my hands, for anything. Needy.”

Derek did moan then, just a little.

“Colour?”

“Green,” he whispered.

“Good,” Stiles said. “Turn around for me again.”

When he kneeled facing Stiles, all the air disappeared from Derek’s chest as they locked eyes. Stiles’ were darker than Derek had ever seen them before, with a subtle strength behind them he found himself wanting to fall into. When Stiles looked him over and added, “You’re doing very well, Derek,” that want only grew stronger, as did his erection. It turned out he’d been right about his own slumbering praise kink.

Then, without another word, Stiles leaned in to claim Derek’s mouth.

The kiss was slow, deeper and more dominating than the ones they’d shared so far. It sent an instant shock down to Derek’s toes and had him instinctively responding eagerly when a sudden pinch to his nipple made him jerk in surprise.

“I set the pace,” Stiles told him softly, soothing his palm against Derek’s chest. “Don’t speed up.” He then leaned forwards again.

The next five or ten minutes that followed – Derek honestly had no idea how long it was – were undeniably the most sensual of Derek’s life, even though their lips were the only body parts connecting. Every time he craved more, he had to work to submit to Stiles, to follow his lead, to let him in, and he was reminded of his bindings whenever he tugged at them, wanting badly to touch himself, his partner, anything.

When satisfied, Stiles pulled himself back just to reach around and undo the metal link between the two cuffs connecting Derek’s wrists. He then settled back on the couch and clasped his hands between his thighs casually.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he instructed, “and I want you to tell me when you’re close. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Derek rasped, as he fished his cock out from his sweats, abs jumping at the cool, dry touch of his hand.

“Use spit if you have to,” Stiles continued, nonchalant. Cheeks warming, Derek wet his hand himself, acutely aware of Stiles’ gaze tracking his movements, and got to work.

He’d already been so turned on that he was leaking precum and breathing a little faster within no time. He kept his strokes even, paying careful attention to his own responses, pleasure way beyond a usual session of masturbation building in his body under Stiles’ watchful, if not critical, eye.

“I’m- I’m close,” he whispered, after a quiet minute.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You can come, but you’d better not make a mess of my couch,” Stiles warned. “Onto the towel.”

Physical bliss and a touch of sweet embarrassment mixed suddenly into a heady cocktail, Derek’s head spinning with it, and his abdomen spasmed almost painfully as he spilled on his hand and the towel below, moaning once, breath coming in staccato gasps. He trembled in the aftermath of his wrenching orgasm, hands shaking involuntarily, shivers wracking his body, and, with his eyes squeezed shut, he lost awareness of his surroundings for a wild second.

Upon returning to himself a moment later, Derek distantly registered as Stiles draped a plush blanket around his shoulders and pulled him forward to rest his head against the couch. Comforting hands brushed through his hair.

“Well done. Gorgeous. You did so well, Derek, so well. I’m so proud.”

Derek’s throat tightened, and he had to blink hard before righting himself, suddenly desperate to see Stiles’ face. The younger man just gave a careful smile, holding Derek’s face in two steady hands.

“Alright?” he asked gently, all steel and expectation gone from his tone.

Derek nodded. “Yeah. Just… intense.”

“Can you stand?”

“Think so.”

Stiles tugged him to his feet and stooped to grab the soiled towel. With a clean edge, he carefully wiped Derek’s hand and groin before throwing it to one side and unbuckling the cuffs from Derek’s wrists. Together, they moved into Stiles’ bedroom and curled against each other on the bed, underneath the duvet. The curtains had already been drawn, for which Derek was grateful.

For a long while, they lay together and breathed, Derek’s head tucked under Stiles’ chin, Stiles’ arms around Derek’s back. The nervous part of Derek’s brain wanted desperately to analyze everything that had just occurred, figure out what it meant, what he could have done better, but it was so much easier to let himself float on his endorphins and enjoy being held. So, he did just that.

Stiles stirred a moment later and produced an unopened bottle of water from his nightstand.

“Need you to drink this,” he said, encouraging Derek to sit up. Derek hadn’t even realized that he was parched, for he downed a good portion of the bottle as soon as the cool water hit his tongue.

“Shit,” he said, head feeling clearer afterwards.

“Yeah,” Stiles chuckled, tossing the closed bottle to the floor. “Come back. I’m not done with you yet.” Derek had no objections to that. He settled back into the warm cocoon of pillows and blankets and rolled to rest against Stiles’ chest, feeling warm down to his bones.

“How’re you feeling now?” Stiles asked quietly, voice rumbling against Derek’s ear.

“Pretty good,” Derek murmured. “Wasn’t expecting to feel so much.”

“Too much?”

“No. I’m… light. If that makes sense.” His licked his dried lips uncertainly. “Was I okay?”

“You were perfect,” Stiles whispered, kissing the crown of Derek’s head. “You communicated clearly and enjoyed yourself. That’s all I can ask for.”

“So, we can do this again?”

Stiles laughed warmly, slightly jostling Derek. “Oh, yeah. I have so many plans, you have no idea.”

“I’m on board with that,” Derek said sleepily.

“Awesome.” The arms around Derek’s back tightened. “Man. I am super glad you decided to go to that workshop.”

Derek wholeheartedly agreed.

In the wake of the scene, their first together and Derek’s first ever, Stiles had suggested taking a brief rest from further play just to let the dust settle, but Derek had started itching for more in no time at all. He said so over lunch a week later via text to Stiles, who promptly called him.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted him. “How’s the workday going?”

“Slow but steady. Are you on your break?”

“I have the afternoon off,” he explained. “Luck of the draw.”

“Nice.”

“So. I do have an idea, if you’re feeling up to it. I’m busy this weekend, but… Are you free next Tuesday evening?”

Leaning back in his desk chair, Derek nodded. “Definitely.”

“Alright,” Stiles mused. “How do you get into your building?”

“There’s a code, and then a key to my place.”

“Leave your front door unlocked, and I’ll come over on Sunday at seven. When I let myself in, I want to find you stripped and kneeling on the bed, ready for me. Colour?”

“Absolutely green,” Derek replied, heat blooming low in his stomach at the idea.

“How do you feel about edging and orgasm control?”

“Good.”

“Amazing,” Stiles said, sounding satisfied. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Derek only managed about an hour more of work before giving up, thoroughly distracted. With the justification that he’d already done a lot of work that morning, he logged off from his computer and prepped himself to take a shower. He needed to get off, a quick indulgence to settle himself.

He looked himself over in the mirror above the sink as the water warmed and debated further grooming himself. Stiles hadn’t mentioned having a preference for how Derek kept his hair between his legs, so he decided against anything for the time being. Usually, he’d keep a close trim.

It was then and there, his reflection gazing back at him with scrutiny, that he remembered the bag at the back of his closet.

After a hasty shower, Derek sat on his bed, his towel around his waist, his still-unused lengths of rope in one hand, and the guide to ties in his other. Setting the rope beside his thigh, he thumbed open the book to the same image that had caught his attention back at the shop. The man on his back, bound legs splayed.

After furtively checking that the door to his room was closed and the blinds drawn, Derek lifted one foot onto the bed and started with a simple cuff around his ankle. The entire process didn’t take long at all from there. With the steps in the book guiding him, he managed to use the entire coil until his shin was firmly held against his thigh, stripes of black rope looping tightly across his skin and binding his leg in half.

Heartbeat loud in his ears, he tossed his towel to the floor and shifted back on the bed until he could lean back against his pillows. He then bound his other leg. When finished, he relaxed into the duvet and let out a long sigh.

It felt nice. The rope was secure against his skin, such that he could totally loosen his muscles and let the bindings hold him. As he further settled, he let his legs fall open and slid his hand down between his thighs, not to stroke or grab, but just to feel the soft, exposed parts of himself, the way his cock and balls and asshole were framed by the highest loops cutting into the meat of his quads.

He imagined what he might look like to somebody watching, to Stiles, and that did it. On the next pass of his hand, he gripped himself and squeezed gently, a puff of air escaping his lips. He thought about Stiles watching his movements, scrutinizing his technique, maybe even softly directing Derek’s hands, where to put them, how fast to go, when to stop. Derek knew he’d listen, helpless not to.

His fantasy revved up, evolving into Stiles kneeling between Derek’s tied legs and holding them open with confident hands, leaning down to taste Derek at his leisure. In reality, Derek had to reach into his nightstand for lotion, and he heard Stiles’ calm reprimand when his hips jerked into his newly slicked fist.

“Fucking… Shit,” he muttered into the quiet of his room. He sped up his strokes and tested the strength of the rope, biting back a whimper as nothing moved – he was totally secured. Vulnerable. Open.

Derek’s thoughts flitted through his head, images flashing at random, until settling on one that had his balls drawing up tight and his stomach clenching. He barely had a second to entertain the idea of Stiles kneeled between his legs, rubbing his wet cockhead against Derek’s hole, before he shuddered and came, jerking himself through it, chasing as much pleasure as he could, fantasy-Stiles’ pride and praise egging him on.

He laughed afterwards and grinned at the ceiling, a glorious mess of come and mushy muscles, and Tuesday couldn’t come soon enough.

The day of Stiles’ visit, Derek showered in the morning, worked, went for a run, and then showered again. He scrubbed himself down thoroughly until his skin glowed pink, and paid extra attention between his legs. His dick responded hopefully, swelling even as he efficiently washed himself, which Derek ignored. He wanted to earn his pleasure. He hadn’t touched himself since Friday.

It was just after three when he dried off and dressed again, just in joggers and a crewneck. Anticipating needing his energy, he promptly set his alarm and flopped on his back for an afternoon nap, stretching happily in the sunny spot on his bed and dozing off. Later, when his phone chirped at six-thirty, as intended, he woke feeling more energized for his rest. He quickly changed his sheets and set clean towels on his bedside table, trusting Stiles to bring whatever else he needed in terms of equipment.

Five to seven crept up quickly. After unlocking his front door, Derek stripped off his clothes in his room, set his phone to silent and put it away, and kneeled in the centre of his freshly made bed. He shifted back and forth, getting comfortable, and settled.

Then, he waited.

He heard the front door open not long after, fingers twitching on his thighs with distant nervousness. Waiting for Stiles to finally come into the bedroom was a sweet kind of torture that tested his patience, but he did hold out until the doorknob finally turned.

Stiles had already dressed down, wearing hip-hugging jeans and nothing more. In one hand, he held the cuffs and multiple lengths of rope.

“Good,” he said, taking in the scene that greeted him. “Just as I asked.”

Derek sighed through his nose and let his mind clear.

As he rounded the side of the bed, Stiles laid down three lengths of rope; one behind Derek and two beside his folded legs. He then returned to stand in front of Derek.

“Hands.” Derek dutifully raised his wrists to be cuffed. When done, Stiles lifted his chin. “Sit back.” Once Derek’s feet touched the floor, Stiles knelt to place thicker cuffs around each ankle, leaving them disconnected from each other. He then stood and took in his submissive, stepped closer for a teasing kiss. “Lie on your back in the centre of the bed. Hands above your head, legs spread. Colour?”

“Green.”

Heartbeat loud in his ears, Derek did as he was asked. Stiles’ plans for the coils of rope quickly became apparently as, step by step, his wrists were secured to the headboard and his ankles to the lower legs of his bedframe. The resulting position left him deliciously helpless under Stiles’ heavy gaze.

“Very good,” Stiles drawled, trailing a finger up the outside of Derek’s left leg. “I could get used to seeing you like this.” He sat on the bed beside Derek’s hip and continued to trace his finger nonsensically across all of the naked skin he had access to. “Such a pretty picture. I know of a few parties I could take you to where I could put you on display like this. I think you might like that; all those strangers, staring at you, watching you get turned on from the attention.”

Derek groaned quietly.

“Yeah, thought so.” Lazily dragging his finger just above Derek’s rapidly hardening cock, Stiles fixed his gaze on Derek’s flushed face. “I want to blindfold you,” he said. “How would you feel about that?”

“Green.”

“Mm. How about a gag?”

Derek blinked. “Yellow,” he bit out, and Stiles nodded, leaning across to kiss his mouth lightly.

“Just the blindfold, then,” he said. He drew a folded mask from his back pocket and smoothed out the black silk between his hands. “Lift your head for me.”

The gentle fabric settled over Derek’s eyes comfortably, and the elastic behind his head was forgiving enough to not be constricting. Though the cover didn’t totally create a black-out effect, he couldn’t see Stiles any longer, which he supposed was the point. It was comforting, in an unexpected way.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “It’s nice.”

“Perfect.”

He felt Stiles’ weight shift on the bed, unsure of what was coming next, only to breath in sharply when a slicked hand took hold of his cock without warning.

“Here are the rules.” Stiles spoke casually, beginning to slide his hand up and down in maddeningly slow strokes, explorative and unrushed. “You’re not allowed to come without explicit permission. If you orgasm and I haven’t allowed it, you’ll be forbidden from touch for two weeks, mine or yours. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“You also have to be a very good boy and keep still for me.”

“Okay,” Derek replied hoarsely. Content with Derek’s compliance, Stiles then fell into silence and continued to work Derek’s dick in his hand.

For a while, the pace remained slow enough that Derek could relax into the feeling of being touched without any urgency to chase a climax. His breath hitched whenever a thumb nudged under his increasingly sensitive head, but otherwise, it was bearable. The instinct to lift his hips was easily tempered, for now.

“Your cock is so pretty,” Stiles crooned, minutes later. “So pink and wet and eager.”

Derek’s mouth parted.

“Have you imagined fucking me? Opening me up and sliding inside of me?”

“Yes.”

“Or maybe you’ve thought about being fucked,” Stiles said, a grin evident in his tone. “Imagined my fingers and tongue inside you, my cock stretching your tight little hole.” Derek twitched at the careful touch of fingers to his perineum as Stiles used his free hand to ghost close to Derek’s opening.

“That too,” he whispered, hips flexing involuntarily. The headboard creaked when he pulled.

“All in good time,” Stiles said soothingly, the hand on Derek’s cock squeezing tight. “I’m in no hurry, sweetheart.”

It soon became apparent to Derek how much of a hurry Stiles truly wasn’t in. For an endless stretch of time, Derek drifted, waves of bliss rippling along his body, emanating from Stiles’ talented hands and washing out towards his bound hands and feet. The slide along his cock was heavenly, slowly and gradually tipping him over from simply accepting the touch into needing more.

Frustration building, he huffed and forgot himself and strained his pelvis off the bed covers, just an inch, and Stiles dropped his cock immediately.

“I said not to move.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek bit out.

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, please, Stiles, I am, I promise.”

“Will you be good?”

“I will, I will.”

After waiting for an agonizing few seconds, Stiles sighed lightly and resumed his ministrations, this time turning his attention to the crown of Derek’s dick, opting to rub wet fingers under the head and tickle at the tip, just barely brushing overheated skin. Derek instantly clutched hard at the rope lines crossing his palms, fighting himself to keep from twisting away from the teasing touches.

“Oh, I see,” Stiles purred. “Looks like someone’s a little sensitive now.”

“F- _fuck_.”

“You can say whatever you want,” he continued, singsong. “I won’t stop.”

He teased for handful of minutes longer before finally relenting and returning to long strokes, faster and more thorough than before.

“I want you on the edge three times,” Stiles then announced, tone firm. “If you can hold back through that, I’ll let you come.”

Helpless, Derek slumped on the duvet and resigned himself to his fate.

Stiles did just as he’d said. Three times, he jacked Derek with precision and skill right up to where a puff of air could have sent him careening over the edge, orgasm humming and throbbing just under his skin. When denied, the sensation of loss and frustration became increasingly heady, overwhelming him each time to the point of open-mouthed panting, unable to voice any pleas. He doubted begging would do him any good, regardless.

The third time Stiles drew his hand back, Derek rode through the urge to let go for the last time, no longer paying attention to keeping his whines held back.

“Well done,” Stiles murmured, petting the twitching muscles of Derek’s stomach. “You’ve been so good for me.”

The relief of being praised almost rivaled the physical sensations of pleasure in Derek’s body.

“I’ve decided you can come,” Stiles continued, and he lowered his hand, freshly slicked, back to Derek’s cock. It then only took four, almost five, pumps before Derek cried out and shot his load onto his chest, come hitting his chin and neck with the force of his release.

He came down from his high slowly, noticing distantly as his wrists and ankles were freed, and the blindfold removed. As always, Stiles cleaned him up, had him drink water, and arranged them together under the duvet to rest.

“You didn’t come,” Derek murmured, some time later.

“I know.” Stiles stroke his hair idly. “I’m saving it. When you’re up for it, I want to come all over those beautiful abs of yours.”

“I’m all yours soon as I can move my legs again.”

Carefully, Stiles tilted Derek’s head back and kissed him, pouring fondness into the gesture.

Temperatures steadily cooled off as October progressed. Derek started putting more cinnamon in his coffee, bought himself a small pumpkin for his dining table, and generally felt, amazingly, content. Not just well, or getting by. He saw Stiles a few more times for simple scenes whenever they both had the same evening free. The relationship being fostered between them was something Derek had never experienced before, and he didn’t honestly know if he’d be able to go back to vanilla dating.

Stiles snorted into his hair when he said as much one night, lying on his side while his ass still tingled from an earlier bout of light spanking.

“It is nice to not be called a psychopath when you mention wanting to tie up your partner,” Stiles agreed. “Horses for courses, and all that.”

“I think you might have ruined me for other people,” Derek muttered through a yawn. Stiles just chuckled and kissed his temple.

“I hope so.”

His happy streak continued on. Cora called him one afternoon as he was prepping a salad to tell him that her scholarship application had been accepted and she wouldn’t have to apply for student loans the following year. Then, after having submitted a particularly lengthy and detailed report for an ongoing project with Boston U, his supervisor at the consulting company he worked for called him to essentially give him a promotion.

“They loved your contributions to last year’s quarterly reports,” Alicia told him, referring to a conservation group he’d consulted for before. “They want you back for a project.”

“Okay,” Derek said, frowning and unsure why this routine job required a conversation.

“They want you analyzing and producing _all_ of their public data and mapping products, and they’ve offered to pay for your trouble.”

He was speechless for a moment. “Uh. Shit, really?”

“Really really,” she said, sounding amused. “Keep up the good work and we might have to bring you over to the DC office.”

Mood boosted by his and Cora’s recent successes, he decided to pay the good karma forwards by organizing a small Hallowe’en get together, the first such gathering at his apartment ever. The only people who had ever seen the inside of the loft were Cora, Kate, Stiles, and the building’s handyman, which, in hindsight, was actually kind of impressive for having lived there for six, going on seven, years.

As a result, on the last Saturday of October, Derek experienced the most domestic day of his entire thirty-three years. He woke early to begin prepping the dough for fresh bread and chopping vegetables for homemade bruschetta. With that done, he moved on to cooking sticky rice and slicing thin strips of cucumber and avocado for sushi rolls. He’d done it once before with Cora, and it hadn’t turned out too badly. Additionally, Stiles had assured him and he and his friends would eat just about anything, so Derek was allowing himself a little culinary creativity.

As a final touch, he hollowed out his small pumpkin and carved a jaunty grin into it’s face.

Stiles showed up first, at around eight, and his eyes widened dramatically when Derek let him in.

“Fuck me,” he said, kissing Derek’s cheek as he entered the loft. “It smells so good in here. Did you bake bread?”

“It’s not that hard,” Derek said to Stiles’ back, closing the door and moving back to the cutting board where he’d been halfway through slicing a crab roll.

“You’re talking to someone who’s burned and ruined an entire box of KD,” Stiles said, snorting. “Twice.” He produced a bottle of wine with a flourish. “Where can I put this?”

Wine soon chilling in the freezer, Stiles slid onto the barstool closest to where Derek worked and surreptitiously tucked his hand into the back pocket of Derek’s jeans.

“I have a very sharp knife in my hands,” Derek said lightly as he carefully sliced the last roll.

“Well, then,” Stiles murmured. “You’ll have to be very careful.”

He looked much too irresistible, peering up at Derek from under long lashes, blinking coyly, clearly very pleased with himself. With a sigh, Derek set his knife down and turned, taking his face in both hands and kissing him deeply. They hadn’t seen each other in four days, in his defense.

“You should save some of this sushi,” Stiles whispered when they pulled apart.

“What for?”

“I wanna tie you up and feed it to you.”

Derek couldn’t help barking a laugh at that, and Stiles grinned brightly.

Isaac showed up next, with Scott and Allison and her friend Erica, whom Derek had met briefly at Lydia’s party, in tow. Lydia herself arrived sans Jackson, for which Derek was slightly grateful; he hadn’t really clicked with the guy. Instead, she’d brought Danny, another friend of hers.

“I love your place,” Allison gushed as she helped to set out bowls of chips and guacamole, snacks courtesy of Isaac.

“Thanks.”

“It’s very cozy,” Lydia chimed in from where she was perched on the futon, a cup of Stiles’ wine in her manicured hands. “I could never keep this many plants alive at once.”

“It’s a labour of love,” Derek agreed, setting some plates on the coffee table. “I work from home a lot, which makes it easier.”

Allison sat next to Scott and draped her arm across his shoulders. “You should help us get some for the shop.”

“Totally!” Stiles exclaimed, dropping down next to Lydia. “A couple of cacti beside the whips, maybe some bamboo next to the canes.”

“I’d love orchids,” Lydia mused. “They’re so lovely and feminine.”

“For you, we’d need a Venus flytrap,” Stiles teased, to which Lydia smiled, charmed, and kissed his cheek.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said.

Over the course of the evening, Derek’s food was a hit with everyone. The fresh bread, toasted in rounds, paired perfectly with his bruschetta, and there was no sushi leftover in the end, to Stiles’ subtle disappointment. As the night crept onwards, Derek began to feel quietly proud of himself; he’d hosted a party, albeit a small one, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves. Not the worst way to spend Hallowe’en as a real adult.

He made the mistake of checking his phone for the time just as Danny and Stiles were getting everybody involved in a lively debate on whether sex clubs were worth the money.

_Laura [11:54] – I need you to call me_

His stomach immediately dropped to his feet.

“One second,” he muttered to Stiles, standing and heading towards his bedroom. Once the door clicked shut behind him, he hit call.

“Derek?”

“Laura. What’s wrong?”

“Shit.” She sighed. “God, I shouldn’t have texted you. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” he asked quickly, sitting on the end of his freshly-made bed. “What’s going on? Are you home?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m home. Mom’s fine, Dad’s fine. Trust me.” She was silent for a moment, and Derek knew she was biting her lip. “Well. Mom’s upset.”

“What about?” he asked, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“Eleanor called the house.”

“Eleanor?” He dropped his hand.

“Eleanor Krasikeva.”

Derek froze.

“She called the house drunk,” Laura continued, voice cracking. “She was really out of it, and she yelled at Mom. Said some awful stuff.”

“Why would she do that?” Derek asked, stricken.

“Der…” His sister trailed off into silence again, which set Derek off, stress igniting.

“What, Laura? For fuck’s sake, _what?”_

When she finally spoke, her voice had softened, tinged with old pity that made Derek’s skin crawl. “It’s Hallowe’en. Derek, it’s been fifteen years.”


	4. November

Slow horror turned Derek’s limbs to stone, Laura’s fading voice tinny as his vision slid out of focus and his lips parted. Visceral nausea roiled in his gut. He thought he might be sick.

“Derek.”

How did he forget?

“Derek!”

Laura’s exclamation roused him briefly.

“I have to go,” he said. He then ended the call and dropped his phone to the bed.

_How did he forget?_

He must have lost time then because the next moment he blinked, Stiles’ worried face was suddenly before him, his visage blurred as Derek struggled to focus on him.

“Derek?” he asked, eyes wide and worried. “Jesus. Are you alright?”

Derek said nothing and closed his eyes. He barely noticed when Stiles left him briefly, and he just sat, head heavy between his shoulders, feet and hands numb. Again, some amount of time must have passed, because Stiles appeared between one blink and the next.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Everyone’s gone home. It’s just us.”

Derek jerked upright. “They left?” Shit. He’d ruined the evening too.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Firmly, Stiles set his hands on Derek’s shoulders and tried to catch his gaze. “Hey. Look at me. It’s alright, okay? It’s alright.”

Derek collapsed in on himself. “It really isn’t.”

“Is anyone hurt right now?” Stiles asked seriously. “Anyone in danger?”

When Derek shook his head, Stiles took a breath and nodded. “Okay. C’mon, give me your hand.”

“Stiles. Please, just…”

“It’s okay.”

“Stiles-”

“If you need to talk-”

Derek yanked his hand out of Stiles’ hold. “No.”

He might as well have shouted, by the tense silence that followed. Eyes burning, Derek stood up and turned away, shoulders hunched as he thumbed through the texts from Laura, still worryingly close to being sick.

“Derek, I’m… I want to help.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

A pause.

“Right.”

The gentle sound of his bedroom door closing rattled in Derek’s ears for the rest of the night until he fell into a fitful sleep on top of his bed, still fully clothed, not bothering to pull the sheets back.

Three weeks passed.

Derek worked and went for jogs and half-heartedly responded to Cora’s texts. He didn’t try to reach out to Stiles; the knowledge that he’d fucked up had sat heavily in his gut since he’d woken up after the night of his party, and he hadn’t bothered to absolve himself. He deserved to feel shitty about it. Wallowing felt alarmingly natural.

He’d started treating his phone like a hot potato. He’d pick it up, unconsciously desperate for something, only to be faced with a stream of messages from Laura and his mother, all panicked and asking if he needed help. Then, as if on cue, Kate texted him on a Tuesday that her trip to California had been rescheduled for the coming weekend.

He hadn’t sent anything in reply. She’d take silence as acquiescence, anyway.

Cora caught on that something was up when she came over the following Saturday to study, taking up Derek’s entire coffee table with her books and notes. Derek sat nearby at his desk, half-heartedly editing the colours of a pie chart in an Excel sheet. His leg jiggled as he worked. He hadn’t had sex in almost a month, and, for the first time in his life, he was noticing.

“So,” Cora prompted, after staring in his direction for a good five minutes. He’d been hoping she’d give up and go back to Cold War politics.

“Mm.”

“What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

He lifted a shoulder. Maybe orange would look better for that slice. “Nothing.”

When he slid his gaze across to her, she had one eyebrow raised, studying him like he was a curious specimen. She then frowned and snorted. “Der, you shaved.”

Instinctively, he ran a palm across his lightly stubbled cheek. “Uh, yeah. Yesterday.”

“I thought you were growing it out.”

“I don’t think I ever said that,” he grumbled, turned back to his laptop screen. Blue instead of orange, definitely. The apartment lapsed into silence, broken only by the clicking of his mouse and book pages being turned, but he knew Cora wouldn’t be letting him off the hook that easily.

“How’s Stiles?” she asked lightly, about ten minutes later.

“Probably fine.”

“Probably?”

Derek grunted. “I guess so. We’re not attached at the hip all day every day.”

“Could have fooled me,” she murmured. Then, louder, “Laura called me, you know.”

Christ.

With a small groan, Derek sat up in his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk, rubbed at his eyes. Of course Laura had called Cora. Cora was the only reliable way to get any information about him, and, though he knew rationally that their concern was borne out of love and worry, he couldn’t help the hot flash of annoyance that sparked at the thought of them conspiring behind his back.

“What did she tell you?” he asked his palms.

“Enough. It was the night of your party, right? What did you tell Stiles?”

“Nothing.” Derek sighed and swivelled around to fix Cora with a tired look. “I told him nothing and that it was none of his business. And then he left.”

“Well, that was fucking stupid,” she said. “Why wouldn’t you tell him? I thought things were getting serious.”

Stomach twisting, Derek gestured at nothing. “It was never serious.”

“Was? It’s over?”

“I don’t know.”

“So figure it out,” she said, looking back down at her textbook, tone more firm than he was used to hearing from her. “You’re an adult.”

“Arguably,” he said gruffly, spinning back to his laptop. “Doesn’t matter. What would I even say? Hey, Stiles. Sorry for being such a closed-off bastard when you were only trying to be nice. There’s just some crappy shit that happened a long time ago, and apparently I’m not immune to crippling anxiety at the slightest mention of those events despite years and years of therapy. Something like that?”

“Exactly that!” Cora burst out. “Jesus Christ, Derek, no one said you had to be okay one hundred percent of the time.”

“Then what was the fucking point?” he bit out, standing and pacing around the futon towards the fridge. His hands felt antsy, and he had vegetables that needed prepping.

Cora twisted around to follow him as he moved. “The point of what?”

“Of everything! What was the point of all that work if I’m not better at the end of it? That’s not what I sighed up for. That’s not what _he_ signed up for.”

“That’s not how it works, and I know you know that.”

A little harder than necessary, he set a bell pepper on a chopping board and sliced it roughly in half. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late now.”

Cora made an exasperated noise. “It literally isn’t. It’s misunderstanding, at best. Just call him.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“He’s good for you, Derek!” When he just made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, she huffed and turned back around to her study materials. “I’m not leaving until you fix it. I’ll camp out all weekend if I have to.”

“No,” he said quickly, pausing with the knife halfway inside the pepper.

Too quickly. Damn.

Cora turned again and rested her arm on the back of the futon, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why?” she asked. “Are you busy?”

“You don’t need to know every detail of my life.”

“I don’t need to, but I usually do.” Her attention shifted to something behind him, and her mouth parted. “You don’t drink tonic water.”

Derek set the knife down and closed his eyes.

A silence followed. Then, “Seriously?”

“Cora-”

“No, Derek, seriously? Don’t tell me that means what I think it does.”

Opening his eyes again, Derek stared into the shredded innards of the pepper. “I’m not going to lie to you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Abruptly, she stood and started stacking her books and notepads, shucking the haphazard pile into her backpack. She then stalked to the front door and shoved her feet into her boots and grabbed her jacket. “Hope you have fun,” she threw at him. The door closed softly behind her; she hadn’t bothered to slam it.

He would have preferred it if she had.

He stood pathetically at the island for a long while afterwards, pepper half chopped, seeds all over the counter.

Later that evening, after spending most of the afternoon chasing his thoughts in circles and sitting alone on the futon in some kind of penance, Derek blinked, registered the dark sky outside, wiped his hands on his jeans, and padded across the loft to his room. Inside, he made for the closet and reached behind a basket of socks for the notebook he’d taken to the workshop in August, the books from _Ally’s Armory_ , and his two coils of rope.

Delicately, he held everything in two hands, as if weighing something precious in his naked palms.

At the beginning of all of this, there’d been at least one firm truth; he’d only gone to the workshop at all because he’d wanted to for Kate. He’d wanted to impress her, get her attention and feel validated. And, after his experiences with Stiles, he definitely knew enough to keep her entertained for a few hours. It wouldn’t be too difficult, and she might even be intrigued enough to visit more often.

Maybe more than only four times in a year.

But then Derek imagined it.

He imagined taking the soft cotton rope in his hands, imagined himself tying her wrists as she smirked at him and he avoided her gaze, imagined how she’d sigh and relax into his bedclothes, always toeing the polite line between patient and impatient. Expectant.

Expectant for something he wasn’t even sure he could give.

Had he ever been able to?

“Damnit,” he muttered aloud.

Cora had been right. He was unbelievable. He’d been so ready to accept letting a good thing slip out of his hands as if it was inevitable, and he hadn’t even made the effort to fight for it.

He was sure Emma would have words to say. She’d ask if this was what he really wanted, and what did he want? Stability was the kneejerk response.

Entertaining anything else was too risky.

Looking down at his hands, Derek snorted lightly and rubbed his thumb along the grain of the rope. Probably just as risky as going to a bondage workshop alone and a bar with strangers and trusting a beautiful person to let him feel more than he thought he could contain.

And he’d already done all that.

_Don’t forget how far you’ve come already._

He had to fix this.

Dropping everything onto the bed, Derek reached into his back pocket for his phone, found Stiles’ contact, and opened their chat to type the message he should have sent three week ago.

Of course, the buzzer for the front door then rang.

Kate was always slightly shorter than Derek remembered. She could meet his eyeline without much difficulty, but only because of the wicked boots she favoured in the cooler months. Derek figured it had something to do with needing to keep up with her peers in New York; she was formidable, but likely had to appear so out of necessity.

When he opened the loft’s front door for her, just the hint of her rich smile had him feeling like he could very easily open his arms to her and willingly forget everything that had happened in the past few months if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“Hi, gorgeous,” she said. “Invite me in?”

He stood aside for her and said, to the back of her well-tailored jacket, “Good flight?”

“Dull,” she announced, setting her purse on the kitchen island and turning. “As always.”

“As always,” he echoed.

Her eyelids then lowered slightly, and she walked closer to him. Her delicate hands came up to brush his chest, and the scent of her hair product filled Derek’s nose aggressively.

“You’re looking good, babe,” she told him. She kissed his neck, cheek, and then mouth. Each place her lips went left a cool smear against his skin, and the gloss she wore felt like plastic film between them. Heart thudding in his chest, Derek held her upper arms and leaned back slightly.

“Take me to bed, honey,” she still crooned, leaning into him, nails grazing across his sweater. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Kate…”

“I know you want me.”

“You can’t stay here.”

As if dowsed in an icy bath, Kate’s honeyed façade dissolved, and Derek figured that this was how her opponents must feel in court – pinned in place like a squirming insect.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. I should have said something,” Derek told her. “You arrived so suddenly, and I just… You can’t stay here.”

She appraised him for a long, cool moment.

“You’re not kidding,” she said finally, withdrawing her hands.

“No.” He stepped back. “I think this is over. It needs to be. For me.”

After only a split second of what might have been surprise, she nodded and lifted her chin, reached to the side to slide her purse onto her shoulder. Her face was impassive, neither upset nor angry. She’d never allow him the luxury of knowing that about her.

“Right,” she said, breezy, the word a thin ghost of Stiles’ final utterance to Derek three weeks earlier.

After meeting his eyes once more, perhaps searching for regret, Kate sidestepped him and exited the loft. Disappearing from his life after two years.

Derek had been left behind in his apartment more than once in the past month, but this particular departure didn’t feel as significant to him in that moment as he thought it might. After taking a few steadying breaths and waiting long enough for her to truly be gone, Derek then put on shoes and headed out without giving himself a moment to think again.

He rode his bike to Stiles’ apartment building. For a weekend evening, the streets were blessedly clear, and he made the trip in record time. Any slower and he might have talked himself into turning around.

Scott came downstairs, alone, after Derek rang the buzzer.

“Hey, man,” he said carefully, leaning his head out just beyond the front door.

“Hey.” Derek cleared his throat. “Is Stiles home?”

“Yeah. Uh…” Scott glanced up the stairs behind him and then back out at the man standing on his stoop. “One sec.”

Momentarily left alone outside in the dim light of the street, Derek bit at his lip and shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. He could have called or texted from home, he thought vaguely, but just the thought of spending a second longer in his den of self-doubt and idiocy had made something inside of him cringe. So, here he was.

The light sound of feet traversing the steps inside pulled him from his thoughts, and the door opened again, wider this time, to frame Stiles, dressed simply in jeans and socks and a long-sleeved top. His hair had been styled slightly. He looked so good.

“Hi,” Derek forced out. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Stiles said neutrally. “Our parents are over for Thanksgiving dinner. We were just finishing up.”

“Right. I forgot.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth lifted. “About Thanksgiving?”

“Not much point in remembering, usually.”

Stiles’ face grew solemn, and all of the words Derek had wildly crafted during his frantic bike ride flew out of his ears, leaving him bereft of anything meaningful to say as they regarded each other uneasily.

Luckily, Stiles was Stiles.

“I’m sorry I ghosted you,” he said.

That took Derek by surprise.

“What?”

Stiles lifted a shoulder. “It was pretty clear I’d crossed some kind of line. I thought… I’d hoped you’d say-” He cursed under his breath and folded his arms across his chest and smiled self-consciously. “I guess I let my feelings cloud my judgement.”

“Your…” Derek trailed off and his chest burned with the need to get his own apology out in the air. “Stiles, no. _I’m_ sorry.”

Stiles’ expression morphed into one of slight confusion.

“It’s on me,” Derek continued. “I have some shit.” Understatement. “I usually handle things better than that.” He filled his lungs and met Stiles’ warm, achingly familiar eyes. “It was unfair to shut you out like that, and I’m sorry.”

Stiles nodded slowly and looked down at his socked feet. “You don’t have to tell me anything, you know,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“But I want you too,” he said, lifting his head and fixing Derek to the spot with his gentle attention. “I want to know about your shit. I want to know everything about you. Derek, I want… more than we agreed on initially.”

Derek thought he might dissolve where he stood.

“Kate was here,” he said, abrupt. Stiles frowned sharply, and Derek waved a hand to clear any misunderstanding. “At the loft. Only for five minutes. I thought-” He fixed his gaze on the doorframe beside Stiles’ head, the stark reality of his stupidity catching up with him. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“Fixing things,” Derek said quietly. “If I can. I told her to leave. She kissed me once and it wasn’t right. It felt-”

He broke off.

“Felt?” Stiles prompted softly.

“Wrong,” Derek admitted, throat tight. “Like her kiss was wrong. It’s supposed to be yours.” He swallowed. “I feel like _I’m_ supposed to be yours.”

The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. Slowly, Derek, as he stood in the cool November air three steps down from where Stiles remained in the doorway, noticed a weight slide from his shoulders. He felt deeply that everything he’d said had been true, and there was some relief that came with that.

He’d been honest, with himself and Stiles, and at least he’d have that if the younger man told him to turn around and never come back.

Still, Derek wanted.

“Come inside,” Stiles finally said, stepping back and pushing the door further open.

What?

“What?” Derek asked weakly.

Smiling, Stiles jerked his chin back at the staircase. “Come on. They’re on their last glass of wine; they’ll be heading out soon.”

Speechless and just a little hopeful, Derek ducked his head and climbed the front steps.

John and Melissa seemed like lovely people to Derek, who only got to shake their hands briefly as he passed them in the front hall of Scott and Stiles’ apartment. With their parents gone and light dinner jazz still floating from a hidden speaker, Scott started to clear up dishes from what looked to have been a quaint family dinner, and Stiles tugged Derek to his room.

Inside, with the door quietly shut, he drew Derek around the side of the bed and scooted back into its centre; it didn’t take much nudging to get Derek to collapse down beside him and hide his face into Stiles’ collarbone.

From then on, there was quiet between them. Derek’s ears rang in the silence broken only by Stiles’ steady heartbeat.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” Stiles eventually murmured. “I’ll be here regardless.”

Just that simple sentiment had the back of Derek’s throat closing up. As they lay together, he tried several times to push the words out only to have them stick to his tongue each time. He couldn’t figure out where to start. He hadn’t spoken fully about what had happened since first arriving on Emma’s couch four years ago.

“In high school,” he started, voice scratchy and faint, “I had a girlfriend for almost four years. Her name was Paige.” He swallowed around her name. “Her family didn’t like me much, but she didn’t care. We were planning to go to New York together after graduation.”

He paused, breathed, and continued.

“I went to a Hallowe’en party with my friends, and she offered to pick me up after. It was late, and raining, and she was killed in a head-on collision.”

Under Derek’s cheek, Stiles stilled.

“I went to New York for her,” Derek said, staring blankly across Stiles’ chest. “I went to school, got a degree, got a job, all for her, I guess. And then, after six more years, I couldn’t do it anymore.” A tiny sound almost escaped him. “I left because I couldn’t live in her shadow like that, and I came here, expecting things to get better, but they didn’t. I arrived and felt so depressed and guilty that I barely moved from my mattress for an entire year.”

Stiles kissed his forehead tenderly, and Derek couldn’t immediately parse the emotion behind the gesture. Discomfort? Pity? Still, he couldn’t stop.

“Laura was the one who called me on Hallowe’en. Paige’s mom wasn’t handling the fifteenth anniversary of the daughter’s death that well, and she apparently called my parents to give them a piece of her mind.”

Story complete, he fell silent and awaited judgement.

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long while. He breathed evenly, hand tight around Derek’s shoulder, and his eyes were peeled to the far wall when Derek dared to peek up at him.

After a moment, Derek muttered something like “I know it’s a lot,” and “I’m sorry,” and that sparked Stiles into motion. He pushed Derek onto his back, propped himself above on one elbow.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered. “Please. That’s some tough shit, Derek. You didn’t have to tell me, but I’m not taking it lightly that you did.”

Derek took a shaky breath and nodded, desperate to make Stiles understand. “I just… You need to know that I don’t feel guilty like that anymore. Not all the time, anyway. I spent a long time sorting out the shitstorm in my head, and I am better, I swear. I just wasn’t expecting that call.”

“Of course not.” With care, Stiles lifted his chin and dropped another kiss close to Derek’s hairline. “I think that would have shocked anyone.” All Derek could do was knock their foreheads together and clutch onto Stiles’ shoulders.

“Everything’s okay now, though?” Stiles asked after a moment. “With your parents?”

“Yeah. Laura said they’d be alright,” Derek replied. He settled back against the covers and sighed. “The whole thing has been chalked up to old grief and bad timing. I just can’t believe I forgot what day it was.”

Stiles grasped Derek’s hand between them and held on. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah. It has.”

“Is this-” Stiles paused, uncertain. “Is this why you don’t talk about your family? Apart from Cora?”

Derek licked his lips. “Kind of. Didn’t know if you’d catch that.”

“I noticed, but I didn’t want to push.”

“Mm.” Derek glanced at the ceiling above them, and then back to Stiles’ face. “When I came here, I couldn’t stand the thought of facing them. I felt like I’d given everything up and disappointed them. I just drifted away. Over time. Eventually, it felt too late to go back.” He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Cora just never took no for an answer.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah.”

“It isn’t my place,” Stiles said, fingers drifting over Derek’s chest. “But it’s never too late. Not if they love you like I’m sure they do.”

“I know.” Derek flipped his hand onto Stiles’ and pressed it against his ribs. “And I’ll get to it. Just…”

The corners of Stiles’ eyes wrinkled as he give a tentative smile. “One thing at a time, right?”

“One thing at a time,” Derek agreed.

Quietly, he studied Stiles’ face as he loomed above. He appeared younger in his concern, mouth slightly open and his eyebrows soft, maybe a little younger than his twenty-five years, but still just as beautiful. With his free hand, Derek reached up and pushed his fingers through Stiles’ hair until he cupped the back of his neck.

He wanted all of him in the way he’d never wanted all of Kate.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, eyes bright in the darkness of his room.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I’m having a moment of gratitude,” Derek whispered. “Shush.”

Chuckling faintly, Stiles rubbed his thumb along Derek’s outstretched arm and closed his eyes, slid himself closer until their noses almost brushed. A shaft of distant streetlight spilled across his cheek from the window, and Derek couldn’t help it.

“Hey.” He got a soft hum in answer. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Stiles cracked his eyes open, inquisitive.

“We can keep things casual if you want,” Derek added. “I’m not going anywhere either way. I just… thought I should say that I want to be your boyfriend. I want to tell you things, and I want you to tell me things too.”

Stiles worried at his lip, pinking the skin there. “I’m not too young for you?”

“I’m more concerned about being too old for you,” Derek confessed, to which Stiles laughed once and tapped Derek’s chin.

Yeah. He was never shaving again.

“I find it unbearably sexy,” Stiles said, coy. “And to be totally honest, my friends have been teasing me about my mysterious, hunky boyfriend since well before Lydia’s party.”

Derek made a face. “Mysterious?”

“You do give off a fairly impressive strong-and-silent vibe.” Stiles pecked Derek’s lips, slid his thigh between Derek’s legs. “Luckily for you, I am not easily deterred.”

“Lucky for me indeed,” Derek said against Stiles’ mouth, hauling their hips together, silencing any further retorts with a firm kiss.

He let Stiles fuck him that night.

Attentive as ever, Stiles took great care as he kissed and stroked and, eventually, slid inside of Derek for the first time, making an intimate space for himself inside Derek’s body, and Derek was hard pressed not to get overwhelmed at the thought and then very visceral feeling of being taken for the first time. He just pressed his face into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder and toed the furred skin of his calf and breathed they rocked together again and again and again.

After, Stiles leaned into Derek’s back, and they slept together like that until late the next morning.

Unwilling to let the events of the past month fester too much longer, Derek emailed Emma once he got home a day later, asking to move his next appointment up by a week. As always, she got back to him within an hour, and she offered him a Tuesday evening slot, which he took.

The day of, he needed half of his allotted time just to get through what had happened with the party and Laura and Eleanor and his mother, all while sitting on the familiar blue couch in Rosemont, and Emma crossed her legs thoughtfully when he was done.

“Sounds like a jarring turn of events,” she offered. “How did you feel immediately after that first call with Laura?”

“Not great,” Derek said to his knees. “I panicked and froze. I lost time.” He tapped his forefinger against his leg. “I shut Stiles down when he offered help, and then kind of just… sat in it. For three weeks.”

Emma nodded. “What broke you out?”

“Cora,” he said, huffing a short laugh. “She told me I was being an idiot, and walked out when she figured out that Kate was arriving.”

“Had you invited Kate?”

“Yes and no. She assumed she could drop in, and I didn’t correct her; that was always our MO.” He shook his head. “I was so close to just letting things go back to the way they were.

“But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t,” he agreed.

Emma paused in her notetaking. “How much did you tell Stiles? After reconciling?”

“Everything,” Derek said, meeting her steady gaze. “I told him everything.”

“And how did you feel after that?”

“Fine.” Derek wet his lips absently as he thought back to how he’d been on Sunday morning. Sore and happy. Not a hint of regret. “It felt okay. I also asked to we could move ahead with a relationship, and he said yes. So, it’s official, now.”

Before speaking again, Emma let the air settle between them, quiet atmosphere broken only by the distant ticking of the kitchen clock. She then uncrossed her legs and threaded her fingers together over her knees.

She said, “It sounds to me like you took a big leap of faith. You were vulnerable and honest with your wants, and I’d say it all paid off.”

“I hope so,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Genuinely pleased, Emma returned his smile as she picked up her tablet again.

“I’m glad for you.”

He felt pretty glad for himself, too.

Later, she dismissed Derek with homework to complete for their next session, though it took him until the last day of November to build up the courage to do what she’d strongly suggested.

He’d prepared dinner already – a quiche made from scratch was keeping warm in the oven, pistachio gelato, Stiles’ favourite, waited ready in the freezer – and he sat at the island, some time to kill. He couldn’t explain exactly how he decided it was the right moment. He just knew that he needed to do it then, before a new month turned over, before he lost the nerve.

The line rang for a long while when he put his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Derek shifted on his stool. “It’s me.”

“Derek?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You, uh – _shit_. No! Mom, back off. Sorry, Der, just let me…”

He smiled down at his knees as a racket of sounds came down the line. Finally, a door clicked shut.

“Ugh,” Laura sighed. “She’s been awful to deal with.”

“Because of me?”

“She’s worried to death about you,” she confirmed frankly. Derek winced, though he wasn’t surprised.

“Right. And you?”

“Mad at myself, mostly,” she said. “For even texting you on Hallowe’en in the first place. And a little concerned that you might be dying since I don’t think you’ve willingly called me in over five years.”

“Don’t be mad at yourself,” he muttered. “I’m not dying, by the way. I’m just…” He turned on the stool and leaned both elbows on the countertop. “I’m trying, now.”

Laura’s voice softened. “Alright.”

“Tell Mom she doesn’t need to worry.”

“She knows you’re okay; she just misses you. Dad, too.”

Derek scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I miss all of you,” he said, the words raw in his throat. “I wasn’t… I couldn’t…” His thoughts refused to translate into sentences. How was he to sum up the past six years? “Fuck.”

“She worries that you hate her,” Laura pushed on, gentle but firm.

“I never hated any of you. I was-”

It was right there, on the tip of his tongue; the truth.

“I was scared,” he said roughly, praying Laura wouldn’t demand to know exactly what of.

Of course, Laura was still Laura. Solid and unwavering and Derek’s big sister who’d known him since the day he was born.

“And what about now?” was all she asked.

“It’s better,” he said. “I have a therapist. And I have someone.”

Said someone made his presence known just then as he let himself through the front door of the apartment, hair a little windblown, toeing off his sneakers and leaving them in the doorway as if he lived there. Stiles quickly took note of the phone call taking place and, after hanging up his jacket, padded around to lean lightly against Derek’s back and kiss his shoulder.

“Well, you should bring them up to visit sometime,” Laura was saying.

“Yeah, maybe,” Derek said, warmth spreading through him as Stiles squeezed him around the middle.

“Did you want to talk to Mom?”

He hesitated.

“Tomorrow. Can you tell her for me? I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks. I gotta go.” He paused. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she replied easily. “Talk tomorrow.”

“Alright. Night.”

“Night, Der.”

The connection ended with a soft click. Derek set his phone down on the island.

“Laura?” Stiles murmured.

Feeling worn but accomplished, similar to after having completed a tough run, Derek just nodded. Stiles untangled his arms and turned Derek to face him, spinning him on the stool. He then stepped closer, between Derek’s knees, a pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

“Well done,” he said softly.

Dinner was a quiet affair. After, lounging together on the futon, one episode into a new HBO series Stiles had wanted to watch, Stiles turned his head to ask, close to Derek’s ear, “How are you feeling?”

“Not sure,” Derek mumbled truthfully. He was sated and content for having shared a meal with Stiles, still reeling a little from a full conversation with his older sister, apprehensive at the prospect of talking to his mother. It was a lot for one brain to try to parse.

Stiles kissed the skin just behind his ear. “How would you _like_ to be feeling?”

“Quieter.”

Another kiss, dropped lower, on the hinge of his jaw.

“Why don’t you kneel for me?”

Bones willingly liquifying, Derek slid to the floor and knelt in the space between the futon, the coffee table, and Stiles’ knees. A hand rested heavily on the back of his neck, and he instinctively rested the side of his face along Stiles’ thigh, looking away from the laptop screen.

“Better?”

“Mm.”

“I’m gonna keep watching,” Stiles said, trailing light fingers across Derek’s scalp. “You can stay there as long as you need. I’ll just ask that you tell me if you get uncomfortable.”

After nodding slightly once, Derek closed his eyes and floated, universe narrowed down to the buzzing voices of actors behind him, the warm denim under his cheek, and the small but steady movements of Stiles’ hand in his hair.


	5. December

The final month of the year arrived with a brisk chill most residents of Sacramento were unused to. Hailing from northern California, and having spent years in New York, Derek secretly loved the shift in temperature. He enjoyed his runs more and would take any excuse to throw an extra blanket across his bed.

With reassurances from Emma combined with the way that he and Stiles had recently connected, he also started the month feeling buoyed and closer to love than he had in a long, long time. Stiles was a bright spot in his life, a place where Derek’s curiosity and energy came to life in a way it hadn’t since he’d been a teenager, and he couldn’t imagine losing that now.

It was definitely the only reason he’d said yes to going to a kink-friendly club to see Allison perform with Isaac. Stiles had promised that they didn’t have to do anything other than watch, so, once again, he found himself on the phone, at a loss of what to wear and in need of advice.

“Just go naked,” Cora snickered.

“Not helpful.”

“Why don’t you ask Stiles?" Laura asked, ever pragmatic.

“I already did,” Derek grumbled. “He said whatever I’m comfortable in.” Standing in front of his closet, he suddenly had a thought. “I gotta hang up. I have an idea.”

“Okay, buddy," Cora said "Have a wild time, okay? Love you.”

"Love you, Der!" Laura chimed in. "Make good choices!"

“Love you guys, too.”

His idea was tucked into the back of his underwear shelf, still fresh with the tags on. He’d chickened out of showing Kate more than once, worried she’d see it as overcompensating or stealing the spotlight. However, as he slid on the black jockstrap and turned in his full length mirror, he was glad he’d saved it. He doubted she’d have been able to appreciate how his ass looked just then, and he knew Stiles would love it, no questions asked.

Settled on his choice, he covered the rest of himself in dark pants and a nicer dark t-shirt. Stiles had warned him that the club could get warm, and Derek had trouble feeling sexy with obvious sweat stains.

He took a cab downtown close to nine and stepped out of the car into a lively scene, smokers and clubgoers and all kinds of people gathered in clumps, some lined up outside a nondescript door, corralled by a rope barrier. Looking this way and that, Derek caught sight of Stiles and Danny chatting beneath one of the trees lining the boulevard.

“Good timing,” Stiles said warmly, when he approached. Like weeks before at Lydia’s party, he sported a touch of eyeliner, and he was dressed down all in black, arms and legs long and elegant. “We were just about to head in. You remember Danny?”

Derek smiled and shook Danny’s hand before following Stiles towards the club’s entrance; he only had to give his name for the three of them to be ushered inside ahead of the lineup.

“Lydia,” Stiles offered in explanation.

Inside, under lights so dim Derek had to blink to get his bearings, an ornate staircase lead the way upstairs, lined with dusty curtains, old posters of events from years gone by peeling on the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of dry ice and a strange mixture of patrons’ colognes and perfumes.

“I haven’t been to a club in literal years,” he murmured at Stiles’ back.

Stiles glanced back at Derek over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs next to Danny and quirked an eyebrow knowingly. “You’ll like this one.”

Past a coat check counter and underneath a drawn-back velvet drape, the space opened up into something much more familiar to Derek. Music thudded under his feet, bars manned by individuals in fantastical kink-themed getups lined the walls, and a raised stage took up most of what he figured would usually be a dance floor. Already, the venue was crowded with people laughing loudly at each other above the noise and bobbing gently with the beat.

Stiles found them a bar table not too far from the stage to gather around, and Danny promptly melted into the crowd to find a friend of his. Left by themselves, Stiles leaned heavily into Derek’s side and smirked, back arching as Derek slid a palm around his waist.

“See?” Stiles said, close to Derek’s ear. “It’s not so bad.”

Derek just shook his head bashfully, and Stiles’ smile widened.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Derek said. “I’m just glad to have you.”

Stiles stretched up to press a single indulgent kiss to Derek’s lips. “I’m glad to have you too.”

“I have a surprise for you.” Inwardly, Derek cursed himself for not keeping his secret, but there was nothing he ever felt like hiding with Stiles.

“Really? I’m curious, now.”

Danny then returned, friend in tow, and started to make introductions.

When it finally began, Allison’s performance was mesmerizing. She was deadly in black vinyl pants and a matching strapless top, Isaac’s pale naked skin stark in contrast. Lovingly, tenderly, she looped his chest and hips in an intricate harness, hooked a handful of tethers to overhead attachments, and they were off. She pulled him upside down, set his legs at gorgeous angles, slowly turned him for the crowd, a never-ending dance, a beautiful blend of technical skill and the intimate connection between them, facilitated by the rope.

Derek couldn’t keep his eyes off Isaac’s face for the entire show. His eyes were hooded and glazed, and he breathed deeply into the hold of the lines cutting across his torso and limbs.

Towards the end, as Isaac lay suspended in a tangle of ties, chest arched towards the ceiling, Allison shared a moment with him and kissed his upside-down mouth lightly, and a hand snuck its way into Derek’s back pocket.

“I want to know what my surprise is,” Stiles murmured in Derek’s ear, voice scratching pleasantly. “It’s mean of you to make me wait like this. I might just have to punish you for it.”

And there went the last of Derek’s own patience.

As soon as they got inside the door of the loft, Derek’s frame shuddered with the force of being pushed up against the nearest wall. Stiles didn’t waste a second, latched his teeth into the skin under Derek’s ear and sucked sweetly, a free hand reaching to squeeze at Derek’s ass.

“God, I’m so turned on right now,” Stiles exhaled, mouth open and hot and wet against Derek’s. “I wanted so badly to put you right in the middle of that stage, show everyone how good you can be when you’re kneeling for me.”

Derek hauled Stiles against his chest and kissed him headily, tongues tangling like they wanted to crawl inside each other. As naturally as breathing, Stiles rolled his body against Derek’s, teasing their hips together, tugging on Derek’s bottom lip as he pulled back, eyes dark.

“I want to fuck your face,” he said huskily, staring Derek dead in the eye. He pushed his knee between Derek’s thighs and pressed forwards. “While you’re wearing it. Then I want to open you up on my fingers and see how many times I can make you come. What do you think?”

He’d told Stiles about the underwear as they’d waited for a cab, partially to torture Stiles just a little more on the ten-minute drive and partially because he couldn’t resist folding in the face of Stiles’ dominance.

“Fuck, yes,” Derek muttered, hips twitching as he fought himself to keep still. “Shit.”

“You want it?” The timber of Stiles’ voice had Derek’s skin prickling.

“Yeah.”

Grinning, Stiles reached under Derek’s shirt to thumb at a nipple as he laid a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Derek said on a sigh, grinding onto Stiles’ thigh. “I want it so much, please, I want to make you come, please, _Stiles-”_

“You beg so prettily,” Stiles breathed, drawing back to hold Derek’s chin firmly in between his thumb and forefinger. “Go to your room and strip. I wanna see your ass in your little surprise. Colour?”

“Green,” Derek said quietly, something dangerously close to love bubbling in his throat.

Stiles’ smile softened and he kissed Derek gently, once. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Alone in his room, Derek rid himself of his clothes as quickly as he could endure, skin already oversensitive with anticipation. He hadn’t turned on the light, which he was grateful for when he was down to nothing but the jockstrap. The dimness of the room allowed him a small sense of modesty, futile as that might be to harbour. He always felt naked around Stiles, fully clothed or not.

He didn’t have to worry about where to stand since Stiles entered the room just then. Derek apparently wasn’t the only one with thinning resolve to draw things out.

“God,” Stiles groaned. “Come here.”

He pulled Derek roughly against him and immediately dropped his hands to grab at the globes of Derek’s ass, massaging and pulling at the skin.

“You’re fucking unreal,” Stiles whispered.

Head empty of words like it often was when he submitted, Derek left his hands by his sides and dropped his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Unreal,” Stiles breathed again, against Derek’s temple. He lightly tapped Derek’s ass and said, “On the bed, face up. Head towards me.”

Reluctantly parting from Stiles, Derek kneeled and then sat on his bed. He swivelled to point his feet toward his pillow and slowly lowered himself back until his head just rested on the edge of the mattress. Upside down, Stiles stood over him, appearing so much taller and more imposing from that angle.

“Pretty,” Stiles mused, and Derek parted his lips. Stiles then undid his belt and pants, pushed down his underwear, and guided his cockhead towards Derek’s waiting mouth without preamble.

The taste of him was shockingly salty and musky, after their evening out; Derek loved it. The weight in his mouth grounded him instantly, and his entire universe narrowed down to concentrating on keeping his teeth back and relaxing his jaw.

Stiles was muttering on above him.

“So good for me. You were made for this, baby. Do you like the feeling of my cock in your mouth? Do you like lying on the bed for me, all willing and ready for me to use?”

Throat otherwise preoccupied, Derek’s whine didn’t fully make it out of his chest.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Carefully, Stiles reached for Derek’s hands and raised them over his head to hold onto the backs of his thighs.

“Squeeze if you need a break, okay?”

_Squeeze._

“Good.”

Then he upped the intensity slowly, pushing a little deeper with each thrust across Derek’s tongue. Derek had an uncooperative gag reflex, which they both knew, but it was still exhilarating to ride that line between discomfort and pride as he pushed himself to pleasure Stiles and take what he could.

Stiles’ breath came faster.

“Shit,” he moaned quietly. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come so hard in your mouth, and you’re gonna swallow it all, right, sweetheart? Oh, yeah, you are, fuck, Derek, _fuck-”_

As Stiles’ movements approached rough and a little offbeat, Derek’s eyes watered, and he sucked hard. Mindful of his partner, Stiles tugged himself back just a little so the first splash of come didn’t shock Derek too badly, giving him a chance to swallow dutifully.

While Stiles recovered, Derek drew his legs underneath him and turned, kneeling at the end of the bed, just about eye level with Stiles. Stiles graced him with a weary, blissed-out smile, and Derek couldn’t not pull them together, chest to chest, ear to ear, arms tight around each other as soon as Stiles got with the program and hugged him back.

“It’s alright,” Stiles murmured, stroking Derek’s back. “You were so good.”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut. “I know. I’m okay.”

“Did you want to keep going?”

The earlier promise of multiple orgasms floated in the back of Derek’s mind, but he shook his head.

“No,” he whispered. “I just wanted to be good for you.”

A hand came up to cradle the back of his head, and Stiles leaned back at the waist just enough to meet Derek’s eye.

“You always are,” he said softly. “Every time.”

Three words tripped on the end of Derek’s tongue.

 _Not yet,_ he thought.

Not just yet.

But soon.

In the morning, Derek woke up thirty-four years old, and the year ahead actually seemed kind of bright, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost dropped this story a few times, but glad now that I've finished and shared it! I'm fond of this Derek, so I'm happy he's looking forward to the future, now.
> 
> Next on the agenda: expanding this little universe with some oneshots; if you have any ideas or things you think would be cool to see, let me know!
> 
> Peace and health,
> 
> Maddie xo


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